The Ghost and Ms Burkle
by Kat Leon
Summary: Fred will do anything to make Spike corporeal - even take her work home with her! Set after "Hellbound," Angel Season 5
1. Part One The World According to Fred

_The Ghost and Ms. Burkle_

Author: Kat Leon

Beta: many thanks to Addie  
E-Mail: private  
Rating: rated "R" for language, violence and mature situations  
Spoilers/Timeline: Written after "Hellbound" Angel Season 5  
All characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. No copyright infringement is intended.

Part One "The World According to Fred"

In the realm of the magical, rules about stealing don't apply, Winifred Burkle reasoned.

After days under the clinical lights of the laboratory, turning the amulet over in her hand, querying herself on its substance, its nature, it had lost whatever novelty it once held for her. _I'm missing the forest for the trees here, _she thought, happily realizing that a forgotten metaphor had returned to her vocabulary. She slipped the gem into her lab coat pocket instead of to the security of its metal safe – although how "safe" anything could really be around here was debatable – feeling oddly untroubled for a first-time pilferer. She'd never even joined the neighborhood kids in pinching candy bars from the corner market, for goodness' sake! Besides, she needed to test her theory. Treat the paranormal as an ill-equipped science project and it would likely turn out as well as her poor lab partner's volcano did at her grade school Science Fair. Well, maybe not covering her with fluorescent pink slime, but along the same lines of Not Well Thought Out. Whatever the amulet equivalent would be of Gone Wrong.

The scientist-turned-pickpocket arrived at her new apartment building fumbling for keys. She forced her mind to recall that it was the newest one on her ring, the one with more steel. The one that did not feel like it belonged to her. Since her firm's unexpected promotion to finer digs, her boss had gently suggested that she too seek greener pastures—not in a "you're fired" sense, more in a "you have no life" sense. Living at her place of employment had made her work feel less like a job, her co-workers more like family – or at least college dorm mates. She could consume herself comfortingly there; make her self at home with a microscope instead of a television remote. Since her rescue from enslavement- of both the mental and physical kind- she had started living more like one of the people. But she was no less a stranger to their habits and customs. _I'm like the lady with the gorillas, only who's the real beast in this scenario, _she thought wryly.

Filled with the limitless possibility of her freedom when she hit the apartment lobby, she would sometimes shiver with the boundless anticipation. Her boundaries were expanding, making room for the self that was slowly emerging.

**You have no new messages**, her voice mail announced.

Fred knew she should be grateful since a call would mean an emergency, but the soundless room depressed her. Or maybe it was the air pressure. All the units were soundproofed and her door hissed shut like the seal of a pneumatic chamber. She flipped on her new laptop computer, proud of her savvy for installing the satellite radio that finally worked after a frantic call to a tech Wicca for help. Mellow piano filled the room and it all looked quite natural.

She had entered the awkward part of every evening, when she didn't feel as if she'd really come home and could find no place for herself. No message would stop that feeling. She'd chased her mother off the phone the previous night, rejected her parents' offer to come pick out curtains. In her parents' world, curtains would keep her safe and sound, would announce her ownership to her own garret, and would keep her bound to reality - an awful lot of pressure to put on a couple of valances. "You're not talking about curtains, Mom. A few window treatments won't change that you're worried about me, but I'm fine. I like it here. Yes, I'm still staying. Love y'all."

No matter how many testaments to the happy ordinary her family and friends pressed upon her, like the gift of the atomic clock she never used, only more time would cure the waves of unease that periodically fell over her. That's why the clock was such a painful gift. It was an ever-present reminder that she was the contrary anomaly in this life experiment. While she stood still against the tide screaming, _hurry! Hurry! Go faster; _so anxious to put distance between herself and her former life, her fellow humans were loath for time to pass. She had spent these last years observing them for clues on rebuilding her life. For all the upbeat psychobabble about moving on, people longed for what they missed, what they remembered as perfect, a private box of happiness from which they could pull out a better time to wrap themselves in and hide under. The time had passed, but she had lost it rather than gained it. _Five years went by and all I did was become nuttier than a fruitcake, I went backwards. What I feel when I leave my apartment every day must be like what the Neanderthal felt when they made fire. No doubt who's the beast here, no doubt at all._

"Fuck it," she said aloud, looking around daringly, but no one scolded her. She'd had enough analysis for one night. Then, remembering the analysis on the amulet that she promised she would do at home, she guiltily fished the jewel out of her pocket and placed it on the desk. Flipping off the computer, the piano music died instantly. Time for sleep.

Right.

Alone in her bed, her conscience nagged at her about the amulet. Her heart raced as she lay in bed, her mind swarming with a jumble of reasons why it should have stayed in the lab. She'd break it. Or lose it. It would get stolen. It would become more an art piece than a serious subject of research. _Me, this is myself again, I'm so glad to meet you_, Fred thought. _You were always careful and always a disciplined student. These are not problems. _Would being an overeager guest to her self ever stop? She endeavored to make a good introduction, to neither negate nor exaggerate her strengths and weaknesses. But she'd forgotten how she had lost her perspective on the amulet and thus why it found its way into her pocket.

A conversation from earlier that day rewound in her mind. Spike had dropped into the lab unannounced, uninvited. But then, he didn't need invitations to enter rooms any more.

"I don't think there's a wind-up to it. I doubt it's going to pop open and play a wee jig."

She dropped the amulet on the examination table. He winced at the sound.

"Oh! You felt something then, when I dropped it? Can you describe what exactly—?" She reached for her clipboard.

He put his hand up. "Save it. Didn't get any creepy crawlies or ice picks through my skull, if that's what you're after. But since my existence, pathetic as it may be, is tied to that fancy bit of glass, I'd appreciate you treating it with a little less rough-and-tumble."

She patted the amulet. "This table is very safe, it may sound noisy when you drop things on it but the metallurgy is completely stable, it was designed specifically for experiments, for substances much more fragile than the amulet. You've got nothing to worry about."

He looked at her, amused. "I can see that I'm in the hands of a consummate professional."

Hearing the edge in his voice, she met his eyes. "Meaning?"

"Meaning that you're always at this here, aren't you, bent over tinkering away as if the whole secret of the world is going to spurt right out on that stable table of yours."

"I'm only trying to help you," she said softly.

"And _I_ am trying to help _you_. You're always here, girl, your safe cubby where everything makes sense. Maybe it's time to get a change of scenery with it. Take you both out of your captivity."

She smoothed her lab coat and smiled, intrigued at where his mind was going. "What do you suggest?"

He leaned over to her conspiratorially. "Take it with you. Home. You've a home, don't you?"

She looked down. "Theoretically."

"So, there you go. Nice little antique might brighten up the place."

Realization crossed her face. "What are you up to? 'Nice little antique?' Which one are we talking about here, you or the amulet?"

Spike scowled and turned away from her. She readied herself for another barrage of wisecracks. But they didn't come.

"Every night you put your trinket back in its box and skip away, it isn't the only thing that gets left behind," he said bitterly. "I can't leave here anymore do you get it? I don't go bloody anywhere that it doesn't." He pointed accusingly at the amulet. "Damned if I know why, so you can sod the rest of your survey."

Fred put down her pen. "I thought you could go as far as the city limits."

He angrily kicked the metal waste can over with a crash. "Well, it's up and reshuffled the fucking cards on me, hasn't it, or switched bleeding games altogether! Seems that it's trial by fire all the way around these days and I get to learn as we go. Color. Me. Lucky," he spat, striding over to her. "What I want to know is what are you going to do about it? Leave me to rot in here night after night?"

The guilt for his still–intangible afterlife weighed on her. Weeks ago, he'd been gracious about her failed attempts to restore his body. How could she fault him for growing impatient, especially since he'd saved her life?

"What are you doing?" she murmured, moving away. He pulled her back with his most challenging glare.

"I believe the correct terminology, Professor, is goading you. I am goading you into bringing that amulet home and taking a crack at it with a fresh pair of eyes. And if you're a very good girl," he smirked. "A crack at yours truly."

She picked up her head and resolutely stuck out her chin. "Goading is a two-way street as I see it. You can do it and I can let you. Or I can choose not to let you. Or I can just do what I'm going to do regardless, a free-thinker unaffected by…goading."

"Sounds like there's more than two streets there, a whole intersection if you ask me…but since I'm the one tied to this thing, I'd like to know what you're doing. Keep me in the loop."

She considered it while she cleaned the fog he had created off her glasses. "I'll do it."

He blinked at her in surprise. "You will? You'll bring us home? Tonight?"

She nodded, choosing to sidestep the emotion he'd let her see. "You might be right. I've looked at the amulet nine ways to Sunday, hoping that… that it will just come to me. What we need to do next. Maybe a change of context would help."

All she could think of was how long it had been since she had brought a man home.

"Well, might as well get comfy. Nice digs, although you do give new cause for the word 'austere,' and this is from a crypt dweller. Ever think of a picking up a cheery flowerpot or bowl of fishies?"

Fred sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. She could barely make out his filmy visage in the moonlight. "Nope," she said, a thrill coursing through her at the sound of his voice. "I killed things."

"Ah," he said rubbing his hands together. "Now we're talking. My kind of girl."

"No, I mean, I'd forget to water the plants, I'd get so focused on my work. Everything else kind of melted away. I couldn't stand to know that I had let some living thing die because I was…distracted."

"Damn lucky for me I'm already dead then, you might forget to feed me."

She laughed. "Not likely. You'd pester me into remembering."

"So this is bloody brilliant. You bring your work home with you and fall to sleep on the job?"

"If you hadn't noticed, I'm not sleeping. How could I, knowing that you'd enter stage right at any minute?"

"Must stop that then. Can't be predictable."

"I'm glad you're here. I can stop waiting for you and wondering when you're going to interrupt me. Again," she added pointedly. "Goodnight." She flipped her pillow over and lay back down.

"Oh, hold on now. Waiting, was she,she was waiting for me. With bated breath and the whole lot?"

She groaned. She had to be so aware of what she said to him. Spike made every word count and took equal calculation of others'. It was good for her, to work on her language skills, but she was too exhausted to care.

"You're always jumping in on me…I mean, you're always butting into…NO, what I want to say is, I knew I couldn't sleep until you came, so I, oh, no, I mean…"

"Pray, go on," he chuckled. " This is gorgeous."

"I can't believe I brought you here," she muttered into her pillow.

"So you knew what you were getting into?" he asked seriously. "Bringing the amulet with you?"

"What, getting you in the bargain? I'm not surprised. All your questions about when everyone was leaving, when we were coming back. What I want to know is, why me Spike? Why ask me to take you home?" she asked, trying to remain indifferent.

"You know of anyone else who'd have me?" he asked testily, and then softened. "You're the one who's going to save me. You're the best company of the lot. You'll get me sorted, I'll wager. My vitals, what they are plugging full speed ahead?"

She smiled in the darkness. "I still don't think I'm necessarily the right person for the job. I'm not all down with the magicks, not like some other folks."

"As far as I'm concerned, you're the best, the one, the only person for this job. You've already proven once that you've got the brains and the brawn to get me solid. You'll do it again." His earnestness touched her and she shivered beneath the covers.

Fred spoke to the shadows. "I need to prepare you. It could take some time, a really long time. Now that I know how much you're tied to the amulet, I need to break down its physical properties before I grasp its supernatural elements. Something about it could merge with carbon-based matter and anti-matter…or it could be about…-"

"It's about how long you want a roommate, pet, so put that on your slide and poke it." On that note, Spike disappeared. She tentatively lay back on the bed, but he did not speak to her again.

The next morning's sun struck unfamiliar angles of light in the room. Fred awoke more disoriented than she did most mornings, confused by the influx of light for 6 am. Her stomach sank with dread.

The clock confirmed her worst fears: 8:30!

"Damn it!" she burst out, looking around the room wildly. She threw the covers back, shivering in her cotton tank top and boxers. "I'm so late! How did it get to be so late?"

She whipped open her closet. Jeans and a flannel shirt, official uniform of the bleary-eyed graduate student, would have to do today. With any luck, she could find Angel, explain the germ of the plan she'd hatched, and beat a hasty retreat.

"Amazing things these clocks. I hear that if you set them, they give off a warning when it's time to rejoin the living. Never had much use for them myself, but what's your excuse?"

"I get up on my own, same time every day." She looked at the man hovering precariously over her corner rocking chair, his right ankle crossed over his left knee.

"You know," she thought aloud. "It could be one of the effects of the amulet, messing with the space-time continuum, or giving off low levels of electromagnetic energy which definitely affects sonar in bats, so it might also cause a person's body clock to go haywire…that's a place to start." She registered his balancing act. "Hey. You're rocking my chair."

"Do you like it?" Spike asked proudly. "Figured it out, oh, sometime around 3 am, after your snoring nearly sent me to the seventh ring of hell. Thought I'd better find a hobby quick or lose whatever sense I have left."

She pulled her thick dark hair through an elastic for a makeshift ponytail. "I don't snore."

"Tell me, how long ago did they have these flats soundproofed before you moved in? Did your reputation for imitating a bleeding freight train precede you?"

She pulled her jeans on over her shorts. "I know you're trying to stall me, but I don't have time to do this with you. I don't snore. Never have. Now I have to get to work."

Spike held his arms out. "Me, dead and awake? You, loud enough? Get it?" His lip curled cruelly. "When was the last time you kept a bloke long enough to tell you if you snored?"

She flashed him a cold look, pulling a soft blue flannel shirt over her tank top. She bit her lip. "If I want to start the day awful, I'll take the bus. I don't need you giving me a steaming heap of insult in my coffee." She stomped out of the room as he yelled, "Fred!"

He materialized in front of her and she walked right through him as she stalked to the kitchen.

"Hey now, that's uncalled for! I don't walk through you!" he protested.

"No, you'll just walk all over me if I let you." She prayed that she had remembered to buy French Roast but alas, the cupboard was bare. Fred slammed the cabinet door so hard she cracked one of its panes of glass. Shocked at her reaction, she brought her shaking hands to the coolness of the granite counter to steady herself.

He walked into the galley kitchen looking contrite, but she avoided his glance. "I'd like to cash in my 'get out of jail free card' here if I may."

She shook her head. "This wasn't well planned. It's my fault, I should have done better than this, should have thought it through more."

He held out his arms as if to be handcuffed. "Right then. Haul me back in, Warden. I've earned it."

Irritated, she swatted his joke away like a pesky insect. "You can't come here and just pick up my life like you know what it is, start shaking it and make all the pieces fly around! There have to be rules for how we treat each other. Why do you go out of your way to insult me when I'm trying to help you?"

Spike looked down and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat. "It wasn't really the insult you fancy it is. You're just not the sort to notch your bedpost, is all; you've a nice clean dance card." She folded her arms and cocked her head at him, resisted the urge to tap her foot.

When he spoke again, his voice sounded younger, less defensive. "If you must know, I saw myself in the harsh light of day, through your eyes. You slept so soundly," he said fondly, gazing at her. He caught himself and quickly continued.

"To see you frantic, in such a state to leave. You're not the only one who didn't think us through, love. Turns out, it doesn't matter if I'm lurking the halls of Evil Incorporated or twisting myself in knots over your chair. When you're gone, the lights go out."

It was his approximation of an apology. Her expression softened. "I was,…I am in a hurry, but not to get away from you. I have to tell Angel what I'm going to do with the amulet, and to prepare my lab for my absence."

"Absence? Taking me on safari are you?"

"I'm working here, with you. I'm not convinced the lab is the best place for either of us. There's something wrong there. I feel like I'm on display, performing science tricks for the crowd. It's eerie," she shivered.

"More than keeping a ghost under your pillow? You are twisted." He paused, wondering how to approach with her with a less pleasant subject. "You know, if your higher-ups want to know what you're doing, they'll find a way if they haven't already." He whirled his finger around the ceiling. "Whole place could be wired for sound for all you know."

Fred broke out in a grin. "Geez, you don't know me better than that? I've analyzed the structure of this entire building from head to toe. The soundproofing used in these walls is super spy quality. California was pretty conspiracy-happy during the commie years. New Yorkers have panic rooms, we," she gestured around her. "Have this."

She met his troubled gaze and read his fears there. "It isn't foolproof," she admitted. "But it will do. For now it will just have to do."

"What about Lord of the Broods? How will you suffer him when he finds that you lifted his Precious right from under his snout?"

Fred grabbed her keys off the counter. "I'll let you know."

Fred pulled down the street to the company's parking lot and met the kickstand of a motorcycle policeman. She saw the entire block around the WRH law offices surrounded by what looked like black SWAT vans and matching black-uniformed military with shoulder rifles and helmets. Wooden sawhorses barricaded the entrances. The private security team was on full red alert.

"Oh, crap!" she exclaimed out her open window.

The cop smiled at her. "No problem, miss. Just a minor gas leak, but they're taking all necessary precautions. I'll need to check your company badge, then I'll escort you to the temporary parking facility."

Fred's stomach sank. Her problems were just beginning. No doubt they'd found the amulet missing. To make things worse, she'd forgotten to recharge her cell phone and left the house before calling Angel. All she could do was run.

She burst into Angel's office and he put down the receiver of the phone. "Thank God. You scared us all to death. There's been a security breach. The amulet is missing. We went into the lab this morning…no amulet, no you, no answer at your apartment. We were frantic."

"Thank you," she beamed, momentarily forgetting that she was the cause of his distress.

"What's going on with you?" he frowned. "You were probably the last one here. Any ideas?"

"Uh, yup."

"Care to share?"

"Me. I took it home last night."

"You. You did what?" He tried to control his anger. "So that means…Did Spike come home with you, too?"

"Well. Yes. But before you go all post office on me…-"

"Postal," he corrected, rubbing his brow.

"Whatever. Let me show you the data." She turned from him and opened her backpack, pulled out a yellow legal pad full of notes.

"Fred, I don't want data…-"

She scanned over the notebook and flipped pages. "My theory is this. Here's this hugely powerful amulet that saved the world and fell out of the sky and now it sits there? Dormant? I think that something about this place is holding back its magic. I figured the best way to test the hypothesis would be on neutral ground." She looked up expectantly.

Angel drummed his fingers on the office table. "This idea came to you after weeks of research but last night out of the blue you decide, 'Tonight's the night I act on that hypothesis'?"

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. "It didn't happen like that, I—…"

"I'll bet it didn't. In fact, I'll bet it isn't even your idea. You were conned. This isn't like you. I'm beginning to think it's the company you're keeping."

"What isn't like me? Me having an original thought once in awhile?

"To be so irresponsible!"

"Well, you're not the one who knows me anymore!" she shot back.

His lips parted open for a moment in pained surprise.

"I meant to say, you're not the only one who knows me any more," she amended.

"I think you said it exactly how you meant it," he replied quietly. "So what do you want from me? It looks like your mind is made up."

Fred could feel the chasm between them. How could she ever get back to where they had been?

"Buy me a little time with the guys so they don't wig out on me? Let them know that you're behind me on this?"

"But I'm not."

"So lie," she blurted, feeling the tears start. She took a deep breath to regain control. "They'll believe you if you tell them you trust me."

Angel grazed his palms on the edge of his desk. "I do trust you, I don't trust him."

"I trust anyone who's saved my life. Isn't that what we're about, not you carrying me over your shoulder every time, but me saving you back. Because that's what you do for someone you—"

"Do not say love. Not about Spike," he warned.

Angel looked into the face that he had adored for so long, partly because it could never deceive him. It didn't now. She remained quiet.

"No. No, no, no. This can't be happening. Do not tell me you love him. I will smash that amulet to bits if that's what it takes to keep you away from him. He is playing you and you!" he slammed his hand on the desk. "You are letting him pluck you string by string. When I think of all the souls he's destroyed…-"

"But you want to destroy his soul, because you have a grudge? Angel, there are all kinds of love, if you want to call it that, like yours for me. You gave me a chance. You brought me back here to make a difference, no matter what the others said about me."

"You were never evil just…-"

"Nuts? Loony? Crazy taco lady?"

"I was going to say traumatized. I knew you had goodness inside of you. I've known Spike for over a century and,…my jury's still out."

At that moment, Lorne breezed through into the office without knocking.

"So peanuts, the official word on the street is 'sewer gas leak,' say it with me now? I know, not very glamorous, but like I always tell my chorus line, there are no small parts, just the tiny actors who play them." He caught sight of their stony expressions and realized his interruption. "Brr, who opened the ole deep freeze in here? Let me go dig out an extra pair of mittens 'cause whew baby it is cold inside!"

"That's OK, I was just leaving," Fred mumbled, turning to zip up her backpack.

"You can pull the plug on today's PR machine, Lorne. We've found the amulet. Meet our security breach." Angel opened his palms in her direction.

Lorne's mouth gaped open. "Shame, sticky fingers! You had me fooled the whole time. This would've made a great 'Law and Order' ep."

"I have to go, I'll see you later," she said quietly, looking up at Angel and filled with disappointment.

Lorne glanced from Fred to Angel and back again. "Later in the, 'catch you later at the water cooler' later, or the, 'I'll let you buy me a drink later much later,' later?"

"Go on. Tell him," Angel prompted her.

"I'm taking a sabbatical, to work on the amulet at home," she told Lorne.

"With Spike, don't forget to mention that part," Angel added.

Lorne cocked a finger at him like a pistol. "And you're going for this idea 'cause it's brimming with oodles of tasty sense?"

Angel didn't take his eyes off Fred. "I trust her. She made a decision and I respect that. It was a hard decision to make. And she knows where to find me instantly should this backfire."

Her eyes widened and misted. _Thank you_, she mouthed.

Angel came from behind the desk and took her hand. "I run this firm, but I don't run your friends. I can't stop them from calling, visiting, camping outside your door, begging you to give up this crackpot scheme. I'll tell them to give you some space for a few days, but I can't hold them off forever. We worry about you. It's what we do. For someone we love."

The quick morning she'd planned to spend at work dragged through the better part of the day. Her lab associates were touchingly concerned and shocked to hear that she was taking a leave of absence and had many questions for how their various projects should continue – Knox especially.

"What do I do if someone asks me about M theory?" he asked miserably. "I'll think they're talking about chocolate covered candies."

"No you won't," she reassured him. "You'll tell them that 'it's the unknown eleven-dimensional theory whose low energy limit is the supergravity theory in eleven dimensions.' Or 'the unknown theory believed to be the fundamental theory from which the known superstring theories emerge as special limits.' Or call me. I'll give you my number."

"Can I call you, even if it isn't about space-time dimensions? What if it's about going out for coffee?"

Fred caught her breath. "I don't know how much time I'll have for goofing off, I'll still be working." She jotted her number on a post-it and handed it to him.

"I thought we were friends. Or at least on our way there," he said wistfully.

"Knox," she said. "I kind of need to take a break from the lab for a while. This has all gotten to be a lot for me, you know?"

"I hear you," he said. "That ghost, Spike? He has not let up on you. If you want, I could figure out some kind of containment mechanism."

"No," she answered. "That's sweet of you to offer, but he's held back from so much as it is. Containing whatever matter he has left would be cruel."

"I wasn't talking about his matter," Knox said lowly. "I was talking about his mouth."

Fred laughed. "I don't think he's going to be bothering the lab that much any more."

Knox gave her a searching look. "You've figured something out, haven't you?"

"I gotta go," she said without answering his question. "Good luck."

She marched out of the lab and straight into Wesley.

"Thank God, I thought I'd missed you. Angel tells me something about you taking the amulet because you think its magic is being blocked, and then I overhear one of the scientists saying that you're having a nervous breakdown. Whereas Harmony is under the impression you're suffering from chronic migraines."

"Wes, hi, um, listen to Angel, OK?" She linked arms with him and pulled him away from the lab entrance. "Walk with me. I'm trying to confuse the rumor mill. I don't want any of the other divisions to know too much about what I'm doing."

He stopped her and dropped her arm. "Is that what I am? Another one of the divisions?"

"No, of course not. But at this point, all I have is an untested hypothesis. And you know how I feel about those," she poked him lightly with the end of her pen cap in an attempt to joke.

"The description I believe you've used is that they 'totally suck,'" he said morosely. "But why didn't you talk to me about this first? You've made a rash decision. I can find another way and get you out of doing this."

Fred tapped her pen between her fingers, filled with irrational irritation. "I'm pretty much good with this way," she said coolly. "If you see Charles, would you tell him to call me if he has any questions? He's in court all day."

Wesley's expression of concern hardened. "I wish you the best," he said stiffly. "But I'd like to note for the record that your experiment fails from the worst sort of harebrained logic."

"I'll make a note of that," she sighed as she continued walking down the hall. "Thanks."

Before leaving for the day, Fred paid a quick visit to Cordelia's bedside, where her friend remained comatose and still. "You picked a great time to be unconscious,"Fred thought aloud. She tried to think what chain of events caused Cordy's condition, how long she had been this way, but Fred's mind went blank. She thought she recalled something about a hold-up at a store; some disturbed young man taking hostages, but the thought slipped away from her and a piercing headache took its place. Feeling her exhaustion, Fred chalked her poor memory up to hunger and sleepiness. By early evening, Fred reached her home at last and shut the door. She leaned back into it with a sigh of relief. For once, her apartment felt like the safe haven all homes should be.

Spike peeked his head around the corner. "Finally!" he shouted.

Fred put her hands up. "Spike please," she said. "I've had a bad day to like, the tenth power."

He relaxed into tenderness. "I'll take for granted that lingo means extreme. In that case, may I be the first to welcome you home."

"That's it?" She said in surprise. "No jokes? No jabs?"

"Kick a bird when she's down? Not my style," he smiled. "Well. Not anymore. I'm going to disappear for a bit, pet, leave you to your leisure."

She wondered what kind of mischief he could accomplish outside of her presence. "Please don't go all poltergeist on my neighbors," she pleaded. "They're nice people and they have to get up early."

"No worries." He disappeared; the one time he showed a side of himself that made her yearn for him to stay, and he left. _Men, _she thought helplessly and grabbed the Szechwan Garden's delivery menu.

Fred awoke stiff and sore from a night on the sofa. Chinese takeout containers littered the coffee table. As she rose, she felt a blanket slip from her shoulders. She padded to her desk in bare feet and picked up the amulet. No change.

"What's first, pet? You've a whole box of gadgets from the lab; you must be itching to try them out with your own personal guinea pig. I'm ready to let the healing begin," Spike said clapping his hands together.

"You know, I should tell you," she frowned. "This might be some new kind of stupid for me."

"What is?"

Fred slumped into her desk chair in disappointment. "OK, here goes. I do believe that the law offices are blocking whatever magic the amulet might have left. And I also believe that sooner or later, the amulet's going to change and likewise change you."

"'Sooner or later?'" Spike echoed.

"Yeah," she said warily, trying to gauge his reaction. "Other than that, I have no plan. No lab reports to write, no metaphysical experiments to run. Nothing."

"So your scientific method includes lying about, ordering stir-fry noodles, and… waiting?"

"Uh-huh," she answered bleakly. Her face brightened. "But I'm really good at waiting. I waited five years for Angel to save me from Pylea. You've got the head of the science department here on waiting. I've earned all the credits for a PhD in patience."

"I trust you, pet, I trust you. No need to strike up the bandwagon for me. I'm already on board."

Their eyes met and she saw the determined set of his jaw: strong, handsome, and even a little dangerous. Spike's unwavering confidence in Fred assured her that she was on the right path.

"That means a lot, Spike," she said as her cheeks turned pink.

He broached the next subject carefully. "Although I am a bit foggy on the Pylea incident, your boss saving you?"

Fred looked down. "One day I'm going to mention something about my life that doesn't include, Pylea, my great qualifier."

"Oh, you mean like, vampire-with-a-soul?" he asked. "I know about pretext, love. Don't feel you have to explain anything to me."

"I want to tell you," Fred replied, realizing that it was true. She tumbled out the story about getting sucked into a portal, living as a "cow" for five years in a hell dimension, and her triumphant rescue by Angel and company.

"They've seen me go through all that and they think of me as a little girl. Whenever I try to take a stand on my own, they're right there reminding me where I came from," she complained.

"That's not who you are now, is it? Any fool could see that," he told her gently, meeting her eyes again. He cleared his throat nervously. "So how did the band of merries take your news on being home bound with me? Did mass rioting ensue?"

She walked to the kitchen. "Nothing that bad, still, it wasn't pretty. Left a really bad taste in my mouth. Come to think of it, so did that Hunan Chicken." She took out two glasses for orange juice, and then quickly replaced one when she remembered Spike's condition. Her rude words to Wesley replayed in her mind.

"Oh, Wesley," she groaned, knocking her forehead with her fist. "Ugh, I forgot to apologize to him."

Spike followed her in, looking interested. "Come again? You took a side against the second coming of Giles? Isn't that like taking a swing at poor Friar Tuck?"

"He's all like, 'Why didn't you come to me, Fred,' like I can't do anything without him holding my hand. And then I go, 'well, I'm ok with what I did so nyah, nyah, nyah.' I acted like a brat."

Spike sat on her counter. "I think you're entitled to a little righteous anger, pet. Wisk broom for the heart brushes out all the cobwebs proper. Of course, you know the lads only fuss over you because they care. I'm not their idea of the model houseguest, that's for certain."

She sipped her juice and smiled at him. "You brought my blanket out to the couch."

"In another lifetime, you wouldn't have lived to morning," he countered.

She curled into one of her bistro chairs, as though she was preparing for a good story. "What was that other lifetime like? I've tried to ask Angel but he won't talk about it with me."

"Death, destruction, torture, chaos, mayhem, rape, pillage," Spike counted off on his fingers.

"No, I mean, what was it like to live for over one hundred of the most prolific years in history? The Age of Romanticism, the Industrial Revolution, all the discoveries, the inventions, music, poetry, art. You're living history!" she finished, awestruck.

Spike snorted. "Not living, remember? Barely existing. I hate to short-circuit your time machine love, but my lot wasn't exactly the postcards and snapshots set. We weren't on a sodding field trip; we were evil." He told his own story, living as a demon, the quest for a soul, the uneasy bridge between killer and man.

"Whew," she sighed reflectively. "I take out that whole evil part and dream about having tea with Einstein. But I know it wouldn't happen that way. That's the trade-off, right? To be alive forever without really living?"

He watched her in wonder. "That's, that's it exactly." He snapped out of his dreamy gaze of her. "To hear you talk, mine was a waste of an afterlife. Fair enough, too. After I turned, I never took much notice of the beauties of the world, except to ruin them. Now I wish I had. It'd give us a topic until your next delivery order." He grinned.

Fred drained her orange juice glass. "Don't worry about it. In addition to being science gal, I'm also a history nut. I'm kind of your worst nightmare when it comes to the whole pursuit of knowledge." She rinsed the glass in the sink.

"You're not my nightmare," Spike whispered. "Not in the least."

She turned to him, smiling knowingly. "You know, Spike. While we're having this 'roomie- bonding' session, I have to tell you: you don't have to keep doing that."

"What?" he looked aghast.

"You know, the whole, 'Boost Fred's Morale so she keeps on truckin' and gets me a body,'…thing that you do."

He jumped off the counter. "A happy worker bee makes all the more honey," he purred. "Sweetie."

He disappeared.

"I'm saying," she called out into the kitchen. "We're going to be spending a lot of time together, so…"

He reappeared behind her. "We've already spent a lot of time together."

Fred turned to face him. "But here, in my apartment, it's different. It's…" He disappeared and then materialized behind her again.

"Intimate?"

"Spike! You're…"

"I'm spinning you in circles. Getting dizzy?"

"Stop!"

Spike appeared in front of her, grinning mischievously. "All right then. What exactly do you want me to do? Spare no details."

Fred pointed at him. "See, it's that. The flirting, I mean, I guess, that's what I'm talking about. I'm helping you; I'm on the case! You don't need to flirt with me or entertain me."

His face fell. "Oh, it bothers you then."

"NO! I mean, no. It just isn't necessary."

He looked at her closely. "Is there someone else? A male someone, who might mind?"

"God, no," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "My love life is all kinds of screwy. I mean, you said a nice clean dance card? Yeah, try a non-existent one. First there was Charles and I mean, that was sweet and then…-I showed him something about me that he didn't know was there, was too much, and I disappointed him."

Spike nodded thoughtfully, bouncing on his heels with his hands in his pockets. "I'm not thinking you killed a bowl of his fishies, love." He watched for her reaction.

"Nope." She lost herself in his deep blue gaze and chewed on her thumbnail, waiting for his response.

"For fuck's sake," Spike said sadly, realizing the depth of her meaning. "You are my kind of girl then, aren't you."

She jutted her jaw out bitterly. "The bastard deserved it, Professor Seidel, the one we killed. He sent me to Pylea and who knows how many other innocent kids. Charles wouldn't help me or let me do it alone, so I went to Wesley…"

"Who was more than happy to find an opportunity to meet your darkness halfway," Spike finished. "And help himself to you in the bargain? There's a love story for the ages. I should know."

She bit the inside of her lip. "But that was so long ago. I'm just full of anger at Wesley all of a sudden! Like he's done something terrible that I can't remember."

"He took sides with you against your beau to make himself look good in your eyes. That doesn't go away over night," Spike speculated.

Fred didn't look convinced. "Maybe. I wonder why I'm so mad and …oh, brother," she held her head in pain as the headache returned. "I'm also getting a fusion sized migraine. That's another one this week." She put her hands over her closed eyes.

Spike watched her helplessly. "I think I can spirit over some aspirin?"

"No, no drugs. I'm trying to deal with these the natural way."

"Which is the painful way. Let me do something for you, pet. What do you need?"

She squinted at him through her pain. "Take a walk with me? When's the last time you were in the sun?"

"Oh, that's another story for another day without a headache. But I would fancy a stroll with you on my arm."

"Spike," she began, but he interrupted.

"This is the only way I know how to talk to you love, so manage. No wonder you're coming down with headaches. Figure a bird with your track record should have one bloke around who won't make her read between the lines."

"Thank you," she said humbly. She looked at him kindly and the flashes of headache faded. "But tell me the story anyway?"

Spike sighed. "It all started with this ring called the Gem of Amarra…"

End of Part One

Notes: M theory definition used without permission from the Superstring Theory website.


	2. Part Two Lost Potential

Part Two "Lost Potential"  
  
Leaning against the side of the car, Eve stubbed the end of another Gauloise Blonde under the toe of her Jimmy Choo pump, gaining no pleasure from the cigarette's satisfying crunch she felt under her toe. She hated to wait.  
  
"This next one was a kook the last time I met her and all signs are pointing to a repeat performance," she muttered to the black-suited chauffeur, who let no emotion slip past his mirrored shades while he stood sentry. "Who can't get on a plane? If I'd known international travel was this big of a pain in the ass, I'd have chartered the flight myself." She sighed. "But no, because then it would be on the books and Angel might see it. I made the right decision." She smiled at the solemn bodyguard. "I'm so glad we brainstormed on this together."  
  
"Ma'am, I'm afraid you're going to have to move this vehicle," said a state police officer as he sauntered up to the company limousine. "State law requires all personal vehicles to be parked away from the curb."  
  
Eve rolled her eyes. "Vinnie," was all she had to whine. Without hesitation, her guard escorted the officer back to the police car. Eve smirked as the cop quickly pulled around the limo and sped away from the terminal. "God, was it something I said?"  
  
At that moment, a smudged, wary face emerged from the sliding doors of the international terminal, a wisp of a girl in dingy black leather pants and matching motorcycle jacket, cut-off white t-shirt and knee-high lace up combat boots. She slung her bike messenger bag over her shoulder and looked around her suspiciously.  
  
Eve broke into a tight smile. "There's our girl. All toughed up and crazy to go." She approached the young woman with her manicured hand out in greeting and Vinnie in tow.  
  
"Darling," Eve purred. "I'd know you anywhere. You're the picture of your sister."  
  
The girl stared back. "I don't look nothing like that skank," she said flatly. Eve took in the full impact the girl made and saw her as the photo negative of a Scandinavian ice queen. Where the hair should have been gossamer, hers was bloody amber. Black charcoal kohl and pencil lined the lids and rims of her green cat-eyes. Instead of pink blush, a razor-thin scar lined her cheek to the corner of her surly pouting mouth. If Lilah Morgan had seen more fisticuffs than facials, Eve thought, you'd get this face.  
  
"Yes, very little resemblance now that you mention it," Eve agreed offhandedly. "But if it weren't for her, we'd never know about you."  
  
"So where is the cunt?" The girl asked baldly.  
  
Eve looked at her closely. "You do realize, dear, that your sister is dead? So obviously she can't be with us at the moment. That's part of our deal, don't you remember?"  
  
The girl would not break her stony stare. "So why are you here? Don't you got minions for this?" She pointed to Vinnie. "Who's he?"  
  
Eve put on her most ingratiating façade of courtesy. "I wanted to pay a personal visit to you, to let you know that on behalf of Wolfram and Hart, we're looking forward to a mutually beneficial relationship. You're an important client and Vinnie here is standing by to ensure that our relationship gets off on the right foot."  
  
The girl twisted one of the eight studs ringing her left earlobe and grinned wickedly. "What you got under that coat, Vinnie? A holster full of Special K?" She turned to Eve. "I eat that shit like candy, no lie. One shot take down an elephant, but damn I suck those lawn darts dry. You ask that bounty hunter Nazi fucker I just left how good they work on me. But then he ain't talking much without his tongue."  
  
Eve blinked and the smile froze on her face. "Is that your calling card? Leaving a man speechless?"  
  
The girl licked her cranberry slicked lips. "I don't know if you could call 'em all men afterwards." She chomped greedily on her gum and winked. Vinnie backed up imperceptibly towards the driver's door of the car.  
  
"Wow, well, all this conversation, long trip, you must have some appetite," Eve said with false brightness. "We'll finalize our arrangements over a quick bite. Of food," she added quickly. Vinnie jerked open the door and stepped protectively behind it. The two women slid into the limo.  
  
"What are you going by these days? Another creative alias?" Eve asked as the limo glided towards the expressway.  
  
"I got no reason to hide anymore," the girl replied. "I got a real name. Leah Morgan."  
  
"How fitting for you," Eve purred. "You'll so enjoy your meal at Katana, really fabulous sushi."  
  
"Fuck that!" spat the girl. "I don't eat no raw, E-coli-shit fish. Vinnie, pull over," Leah ordered. "Here."  
  
The limo veered suddenly off the road. "Tell 'em I want six hamburgers, supersize fries and a chocolate shake. And a pie. And check it, will ya? They always fuck you at the drive-through."  
  
Eve watched with fascination and disgust as Leah wolfed down her meal with all the table manners of a hyena, her chunky silver rings flashing while she ate. The girl appeared to hover on the edge of the lunatic fringe. Eve wanted to hold the energy, contain it, and use it before the poor girl burned herself up completely.  
  
"Leah, I have to say, we were prepared to offer you a much more substantial meal, nothing but the best for the newest member of our team. I'm sure you'll find your accommodations more than adequate."  
  
"Whatever," Leah muttered. She stopped chewing long enough to ask, "Place got cable?"  
  
"Satellite, actually. But that's beside the point. As I said earlier, our relationship is mutually exclusive, which means--"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, you suck my dick, I suck yours. Whadaya want, Eve?"  
  
Eve pulled a deep breath. The girl's patchouli oil barely masked the growing indication that Leah hadn't bathed in possibly weeks. "I want to set up some ground rules. First of all, after today, you've never seen me before in your life. Any kindnesses that are bestowed on you will be on behalf of the new management of Wolfram and Hart. You must consider ingratiating yourself to these individuals in order to advance your own cause."  
  
Leah fumbled in her jacket and lit a clove cigarette. Eve's nose curled further.  
  
"In return, we will supply all the necessary tools for you to complete your mission. When the senior partners deem your contribution complete, we will reunite you with your sister," Eve finished, pressing a button to open the car's moon roof.  
  
Leah exhaled a stream of thick smoke out into the late afternoon air. "What kind of tools you talking about? Knives?"  
  
Eve beamed. "The accoutrements of your position go without saying. But we have a very exciting first stop, Leah. Right in Wolfram and Hart's offices. Have you ever wanted to be a history major? Maybe a math whiz, or a science brainiac? All you have to do is ask."  
  
The crude, violent girl considered the offer, bringing one black painted fingernail to her mouth and ripping a cuticle between her teeth. "I never went to school much."  
  
"I gathered that," Eve answered tentatively.  
  
"I knew things," Leah continued defensively. "They're all real, monsters, living nightmares. No one saw, no one believed.made me a killer, fucking Lilah, all of them, thought they could lock me away--"  
  
"No," Eve concurred sweetly. "You were chosen. And now we choose you. Your sister made some grievous mistakes that we hope you can correct. The balance is upset. You can change that."  
  
Leah suddenly grabbed Eve's wrist, the tiny hand locking down a rough, cold vise that immediately squeezed off her circulation. "Where is she?"  
  
Eve winced. "It's just as we talked about, Leah. She's, she's in limbo. One good soul could save her immortal essence and unbind her from her contract. Or--,"  
  
"Do I look like a good soul?" Leah whispered, gritting her teeth and digging her nails into Eve's flesh.  
  
Eve shook her head fearfully. "But we can make you into whatever you want to be."  
  
Leah released Eve's hand and relaxed back into her seat. "I want to be everything. Everything I never got."  
  
"Of course you do," Eve said and rubbed vigorously on the back of her hand, feeling a small bone twinge in response. She pulled a stack of files out of her briefcase. "Here's all the necessary information you'll need about our management team: vital statistics, addresses, even personal habits." She paused. "One more thing: for all intents and purposes, all of these creatures have souls. Any problem with that?"  
  
Leah glanced at the black folders and the names Angel, Burkle, Wyndham- Pryce, Lorne, Chase, Gunn, Spike.  
  
She smiled coldly. "No problem at all."  
  
*** "Wow. What kind of trials does it take to get a soul anyway? I mean, it doesn't seem like there should be trials at all, because a soul is something way beyond any abilities to try to get it back you know?" Fred asked Spike as they returned from one of their daily walks.  
  
Spike sighed wearily. "Certainly I've exhausted that headache out of you by now, haven't I? You're not still hurting?"  
  
"No, I mean, yes, ow!" she grabbed her forehead in mock melodrama.  
  
A couple walked by and gave Fred a curious look. Spike leaned over to her. "I don't think everyone can see me. They looked at you yammering to yourself as though you're mental."  
  
"Oh, I'm used to that," she dismissed. "Finish the story!"  
  
He continued to tell her the details of battling both his mental demons and the tricks of the First Evil when he fought what he assumed was his final battle.  
  
"Jolted the hell out of me when I showed up on Angel's doorstep," Spike said. "It was the last, and I mean truly last thing I expected."  
  
She stopped walking when she saw his disheartened expression. "Spike, are you disappointed? That you're not dead?"  
  
He opened his mouth to speak and then seemed to change his mind. He closed it again. "Yeah." He shrugged. "Doesn't seem much point to me anymore, does there?"  
  
"Because of Buffy? We can call her, find a way to get her here." Anything, Fred thought, to keep him here.  
  
"NO," he said firmly, glaring at her. "I don't need a bloody intervention. I need a purpose. I don't know this world anymore, love. I don't know what it holds for me, even if I do get my body back."  
  
Fred wished she could touch him or provide some kind of comfort. "Your love for Buffy was a goal, the thought you could be together."  
  
He pointed at her. "Exactly - was - past tense. We've all got our pasts to move away from: you and your Pylea, me and the slayer."  
  
She shook her head impatiently. "Spike, you're not comparing true love to a hell dimension?"  
  
"Obviously you never caught Buffy Summers on a bad day," he said with a wry grin.  
  
"Seriously."  
  
"All right. I've engaged in a bit of self-reflection of late, pet. Bloody only thing I can do really. I'm not one for following the mystics, but I also don't believe in ignoring their signs: when you turn the entire town that witnessed your love into a huge smoking crater, I take that as a giant red flag from the universe that it's time to move on."  
  
She thought over his rationale. "So that's what you're doing? Moving on?"  
  
"I'm trying, pet. All I can do." He looked down at their hands, swinging side-by-side but apart. "Weak sodding escort I am, I can't even take your hand."  
  
"It's more than just holding hands," Fred said softly, catching a fragment of a memory.  
  
Spike gave her a puzzled look. "That's a curious thing to say, where'd you get that?"  
  
"Wesley." she said, catching sight of a figure near her apartment.  
  
"Why the hell would he."  
  
She pointed. "Look, there's Wesley. What's he doing? Wesley!" she called, running over to him.  
  
Wesley finished reciting a passage, closed a book, and held it behind his back, but not before Fred caught sight of the familiar binding of his favorite spell text.  
  
"I said I needed to get away from magic," she complained. "Not bring it all back with me."  
  
"A simple protection spell while you're at home can't hurt," Wesley argued huffily.  
  
"A protection spell's containment, a block, and it might affect the amulet, therefore negating any of my work. Undo it," she said.  
  
"I will not. And I won't have this conversation in public." Wes glared at Spike.  
  
Spike rolled his eyes. "Right. I'll be in the lobby."  
  
"No, don't go," she said and instinctively put her arm out to stop him. "I took a responsibility when I took that amulet, Wesley. I'm not going to push Spike aside because you want to lecture me in private."  
  
"I don't want to lecture you, Fred. I'm horribly worried about you, the number of hours you put in at the lab lately, your migraines." Wes pleaded.  
  
"They're not true migraines, you know, " Spike interjected. "The sunlight doesn't bother her."  
  
"When I'm interested in your opinion, Spike, I'll ask for it," Wesley answered.  
  
Spike pursed his lips in anger and smirked maliciously. "Actually she seems to seize up in pain whenever your name is mentioned."  
  
"Don't," Fred said, stepping between them. "Wesley, go. I'll call you, OK?" She waited until Wesley walked down her path before continuing into the apartment building.  
  
"Sheesh," Fred said worriedly. "I don't think he's slept in weeks, Spike, he looked awful."  
  
Spike chuckled. "Bookworm boy has it bad," he mused.  
  
She gave him a sidelong glance. "What do you mean?"  
  
"For you. He's obviously in love with you, Fred."  
  
Her mouth gaped open in surprise. "No. No! It's crazy!" she scoffed.  
  
"What on principle makes such a notion utterly crackers, then?" Spike asked.  
  
She thought for a moment, considering the categorical imbalance she felt whenever a romantic thought of Wesley came into her mind. "Him? Me? Non- computational equations?" She could tell from the look on his face that this explanation would not satisfy Spike.  
  
"The him part of the equation I get, but the you side of it, I can't fathom. The non-whatever-you-said, sounds like that pretty little story you tell yourself when life gets rough," Spike told her.  
  
"HUH?"  
  
"Come off it, love. Here comes a big touchy-feely gone bad and you scurry behind your microscope to analyze the life out it. That habit probably saved you when you were in slavery, but part of you hasn't tuned into the fact that you're not there anymore."  
  
Fred felt completely open and exposed. Somehow, Spike spoke to her in a way no one else did and had even successfully uncovered some of her deepest secrets. "You do the same thing with jokes," she replied defensively. "You take emotional stuff and joke it to death."  
  
"Touché," Spike smiled. "I see the scientist's taken her notes."  
  
She unlocked the apartment door and allowed him entrance. "Pretty insightful work. Maybe you should be a psychoanalyst when you get your body back," she teased.  
  
"Sod off," he replied.  
  
To a student comfortable with libraries and laboratories, spending this much time inactively at home proved a challenge. Fred filled her days with research on spells, gems, and histories of prophecies. The solitary nature of the research she began in the lab, coupled with Spike's curiosity and nervousness on her progress, began their friendship. She noticed that her mind worked quicker when they bantered, usually because she was desperate not to let his wordplay get the better of her. Glances were exchanged; long silences followed his compliments of her work. The close quarters of her apartment only distilled their mutual affection for one another. Their combined energies of hope and disappointment bonded them.  
  
"I'm about to make your week," he announced one evening. "Watch."  
  
Narrowing his eyes and chewing his lip with concentration, he affixed his stare on one of the ancient prophecy texts and turned the page.  
  
Fred clapped her hands with delight. "Go you!"  
  
"I can finally do some good, instead of hanging about like some stuffed mascot." Smiling teasingly, he successfully tossed the book on the sofa. "You're next."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "I'm in the middle of this passage."  
  
He stood next to her as she sat next to the desk, puffed up with pride at his accomplishment. "A spot of tea? A biscuit? Bit of, oh, a shoulder rub perhaps?"  
  
She shifted in her seat and pushed the book in his direction. "Latin translation, please," she said, feeling the warmth radiating from his presence.  
  
He sulked. "Turn one page and I become the scholar? No bloody threat to society here." He leaned over the text and scanned the page dejectedly.  
  
"Cogito, ergo sum," he read aloud and smiled, his eyebrows rising slyly. " 'I think therefore I am'? Nice touch."  
  
She giggled. "Well, I picked up Descartes by mistake. I happened to hit that sentence when you showed me your progress. Great timing, huh?"  
  
His face glowed with affection and delight at the workings of her mind. "Impeccable."  
  
In days past, it was the space in which each of them would turn away, had turned away, and would wrench their eyes from one another to return to work. Yet this time, each held on to the gaze of mutual fondness. Their lively smiles faded into deeper expressions of trust, adoration, even fear.  
  
Fred swallowed and the reflex flooded her face with heat. She was afraid to breathe, to speak - to move. She wanted nothing to break the moment.  
  
She saw how Spike waited for any sign from her, watching her longingly, his lips open slightly in the faintest look of hope. She felt his eyes reach further into her, touching places in her no one had found. He plunged further still and returned to her sweet expectant face, quietly asking for and receiving permission to continue. She saw all and still held on to him.  
  
"You.hold on to me," he said finally. "I can't.you don't let me push you away. Even at my worst. Even if I try to..."  
  
She shook her head faintly. "You never go too far."  
  
"I go pretty far."  
  
"I can take it. I can take a lot."  
  
His lip trembled for an instant. "Yes, I believe you can, too. Am I the only one who knows that about you?"  
  
"I think so. And--I, I want to," she whispered. "Take whatever you have to give."  
  
He inclined his head almost shyly. "You want--?"  
  
"You," she finished. The word felt monumental in her mouth and fear welled up inside of her at her admission. Quickly she asked, "Do you--?"  
  
"Win, yes, God yes," he said in a rasping voice. He stepped towards her and impulsively she moved backwards. "Not yet?" he asked tenderly. She shook her head.  
  
"Is it because I can't touch you?" he asked, still not breaking his eyes' hold on her. He stepped forward again but this time she didn't move.  
  
Fred's skin prickled with the need to be touched. "Um, well. That's part of it, yes. And, and no," she stammered.  
  
"What if I could touch you?" he whispered, moving behind her. "Where would you like me to start?"  
  
The heat rose to an impossible level around her face. So badly she wanted to let go, to fall into his arms - but she would fall into him and fall to the floor. This realization broke Fred out of her fantasy.  
  
"But you can't!" she cried, pulling away. "You can't, Spike. Let's just, just, leave it at that." She pushed her glasses back on her nose.  
  
"I watch your dreams, love. When are you going to live one for a change?"  
  
She whipped around to face him. "What?"  
  
Spike's swagger returned. "I said, you keep yourself on a shorter leash than I'm on with that amulet. Who registers your temperature above lukewarm, Fort Knox in the lab maybe?" he asked with tantalizing bravado. The hairs on her arm raised up and a tingle stirred the back of her hand. Fred jumped back in real surprise.  
  
"I'll practice, love. Makes for perfect, don't they say?"  
  
He returned to the couch. "You'll tell me how I can do my bit about the house. Don't want to wear out my welcome."  
  
Fred watched him in bewilderment. "Well, since you can turn pages, I could use a study buddy, with the research, I mean."  
  
"Whatever the lady wants," he said softly and bowed. "In the meantime, you might want to consider what you truly want before you doom yourself to not getting it," Spike finished and then evaporated.  
  
*** Leah watched the blond ghost and the skinny scientist enter the apartment building. She made her move when the twiggy girl closed the door. I can help get her through it again - by her neck, Leah thought. She strode out quickly from behind the hedge towards the glass double doors. With a brief flash of light, a force field of energy sprung her away from the steps and bounced her back to the pavement. For a moment, she thought that the ghost must have seen her and pushed her back, but the couple had disappeared from the lobby into the elevator.  
  
"What the fuck?" Leah muttered, jumping up and trying for the door again with the same result.  
  
"OK, now I'm pissed," she said, brushing the dirt off her leather pants. "Someone's gotta die tonight."  
  
Leah wandered dazedly through the late afternoon-lit neighborhoods through evening, until she found the streets she recognized, the bodegas, the ghettos, and the tenements, the streets that once hid her and kept her safe. Her nose twitched in the stagnant night air with the thrill of the chase.  
  
She could smell them before she saw them: flowered perfume gone sour with the sweat of fear, vampire spit mixed with moldy Drakkar Noir and the musty leather of a classic El Camino. As the girl ran screaming past her towards an alley, Leah calmly waited for the barrio-boy to reach her. She blocked his path, calmly dodged his attempts to punch her, then hit him squarely between the eyes with a closed fist, and staked him while he staggered backwards. A typical vampire scenario - blind date turns into feast - Leah turned towards his girl sobbing behind a dumpster.  
  
"Get up," Leah told her. "I said get up." Leah leaned over to the girl and took her face in her hands, roughly wiping the girl's tears across her cheeks and watching her distress with curious detachment.  
  
The girl cowered and sniveled miserably, frozen in the shock of her near attack and her date's supernatural end. Leah realized how supple and generous was the body that heaved in her hands, how silky the hair - bouncy, honey blonde highlights, like Lilah's once, plump, pliant breasts like Lilah.Lilah the sister who swore her protection after their parents died, who promised they'd be together with the sweetest of kisses.  
  
"Lilah," Leah said to the girl and stroked her hair absently.  
  
"No, my name's Sandy," the girl said in a trembling voice.  
  
Leah only saw her beloved sister in the tear-stained face. "Lilah, you left me to rot in there! I didn't kill anybody and you knew that, you believed me, only you, Lilah, I fucking loved you!" Leah raved, tightening her hold on the girl's face.  
  
"You saved me," the girl murmured, transfixed by the savage beauty of Leah's stricken face, ripe with animal desire, and instinctively moved towards her lips. With a quick jerk, Leah snapped the pretty neck and let the limp body fall back to the ground.  
  
"Wimp," she growled and strode out of the alley.  
  
*** Gratefully for Fred, she and Spike relaxed back into easy, warm camaraderie. Yet an undercurrent of tension now stirred below the surface. Every morning in the shower, she could feel him hovering. Embarrassment and brazenness took over equally when she sensed him lingering so near to her naked body, but she could not bring herself to discuss it; she knew if she called him on it that he would stop. That was it: she wanted him there, wanted him to see her as exposed in skin as they'd been together in emotion. She thought of it as her private message to him that she hadn't forgotten, that she waited for him. In the evenings, traditionally her loneliest time of day, she would change for bed in the moonlight with the shadows reflected off her skin, and crawl between the covers. She felt him move by her side, humming gently to himself, his sound and his presence soothing her into peaceful sleep. He'd become the guardian of her dreams; the headaches and nightmares ceased. Until the night of the phone call.  
  
The Caller ID read, "Unknown." Fred let the machine pick up.  
  
"Hello, Dr. Burkle," Eve began snidely. "You have something that belongs to us and we're prepared to take further action to get it. If you want to bring the ghost home in the evenings for, . well. What employees do on their own time is their affair. But your lab needs you. I suggest you end whatever experiment you think you're conducting and return to regular business hours. Otherwise, we may be forced to recalculate the lab's budget and your involvement there."  
  
"Bitch knows I'm not a doctor," Fred muttered and erased the message with shaking hands.  
  
"Here, sit down, Win, you're trembling."  
  
"I'm fine, Spike, really. I can't worry about Eve, about any of them disturbing the work. The work's all that matters. Better get back to it," she turned away from him and put on her glasses.  
  
"That's it? You think you can erase her voice and that'll be the end of it? We've got to get a plan together," he said worriedly.  
  
She put her nose back in a book and didn't answer.  
  
"Love, we've got to talk about this."  
  
"Don't want to," she mumbled.  
  
"Too bloody bad. What am I going to do, speed read her to death?"  
  
She threw the book down. "You want to talk? Great, let's talk. I don't have any data, Spike!" she exploded. "I think the gem's made of faceted amber. But what does that mean? I can't test it; I don't dare carbon-14 date it. What will happen if I destroy it? I don't know anything! With one blow, they could wipe out the amulet and you."  
  
"This will work out. I know it. You're too damn brilliant for it not to."  
  
She barked out a short sad laugh "I'm not brilliant, I'm pathetic. I've put you in danger, Angel, the lab. All because I wanted a roommate?" She cast her eyes down and saw him kneeling before her. "I want you here, Spike. But I don't know why I want you here," she said. "I've got to think rationally. What's best for you in this condition."  
  
"You. You are," he whispered. "I didn't want you to bring me here because of the work. It's you. I only feel anything like a man when I'm with you."  
  
Hearing the craving in his voice, Fred's resolve began to melt. "This is so difficult."  
  
"Is anything worth getting not?" he asked softly.  
  
She felt herself pulled towards him as though he held some force field drawing her in. He likewise moved towards her, ready to lose them both in a kiss. She breathed out a rush of hot breath and closed her eyes. An electric shock jolted her lips.  
  
"Bugger. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that."  
  
She shuddered, her stomach and pelvic muscles clenching with need. Tears sprang to her eyes.  
  
"Right. I'm pathetic," she said again, smiling gamely.  
  
"Win, no," he started. She walked into the bedroom and shut the door.  
  
Fred tossed in her bed, unable to find sleep. She kept replaying their almost-kiss and every time, an ache of raw desire and heat flooded her body and broke out in a release of sweat. Her hair and chest were soaked with it.  
  
"Spike?" she called out hesitantly. "Are you here?"  
  
"Always, love, all you need to do is ask," he answered. "I'll not take too many liberties with my spirit status, following you through walls, and that nonsense. I can give you at least a semblance of privacy."  
  
She smiled to herself, thinking about their shared morning showers. Worry grabbed at her again when she thought of Eve's call. "Spike, I'm scared. I know that something's going to happen here, but I don't know when, and I don't know if we'll have enough time."  
  
"Hush," he whispered. "See to those dreams of yours."  
  
"But Spike."  
  
"And you're not pathetic. Bloody ridiculous, that is. I shouldn't have tried to kiss you because.you deserve better than this. When I kiss you, I'll be solid and do it proper."  
  
She curled up, scooting closer to the edge, spooning against an empty half of bed. The gentle tingling of almost-touch caressed her hair, her cheek, and her neck, across to her back, rested against her head, and soothed her to sleep.  
  
****  
  
"Now your Deathwok, there's some of your more interesting demons there," the bulldog-faced man droned on.  
  
Leah rolled her eyes. "Not to hear you tell it." Here I am, big new brain, and I'm buying watered down drinks in a dive demon bar for a guy too ugly to waste the time skinning, she thought. Killing Lorne barely seemed worth this torture.  
  
"Nah, I'm serious. You can uh, cut off their heads but you have to mutilate their bodies for 'em to die. And you don't even want to know what happens to 'em without sleep."  
  
Leah stubbed out another cigarette, her patience thinning. "I don't suppose it kills them."  
  
"Oh sure, sooner or later, but here's a secret, just for you, 'cause I don't mind saying that I'm sweet on you, girlie. Deathwok's got real sensitive blood Ph. You find something that messes with it, you got yourself one sick Deathwok," he said.  
  
Her interest returned. "Like what?"  
  
"Over the counter? Any of your heavier, less pure alcohols would work, not vodka, gin maybe.tequila, sure, whiskey--hey why you wanna poison a Deathwok anyway?" he asked.  
  
"Bastard fucked with my sister," she lied. It could be true. Everyone fucked with her sister; everyone fucked with her. Everyone needed to pay. Leah got up from her barstool.  
  
"That's some strong family loyalty. Hey where ya goin'? I thought you said you'd pay me."  
  
"Right. Here's your money." She unzipped her new leather kit bag and pulled out a handful of cash, tossing it in his direction.  
  
He scrambled to catch the money. "Wait, I'll walk you out."  
  
"Forget it," she replied. She walked out of the bar fumbling with the bag, still awkward with the zipper. She dropped a wooden stake on the ground and knelt down to retrieve it. The man opened the door. Seeing the stake, he crushed his biker boot down onto her hand, pinning her to the cement. She screeched in pain.  
  
"Hey, you a slayer, baby? I knew there was something about you. Oh, man. How'd I get so lucky?" Before she had time to react, the man kicked her head into the door, taking advantage of her momentary confusion to wrap a rope around her wrists. "You know how much they want for you on the black market?" He pulled the two long ends of rope around her waist for makeshift reins.  
  
"NO!" she yelled, thrashing on the ground desperately. Flashes of prison, straightjackets, needles, and probing doctors' fingers crashed into her mind.  
  
"Come on, girlie. It's so much better on you when you don't fight. I get so much more when you ain't all bruised up," he coaxed her, pulling on the rope.  
  
She knelt pitifully on the ground, her head bowed in supplication. The man pulled hard on the leash and she felt her left shoulder separate from its socket. The quick spasm of hot pain cleared her mind and quieted her thudding heartbeat. She looked up at him with calm hatred and got to her feet.  
  
"Where are you taking me? " She pretended to sob. "Please, please let me go."  
  
"Me and my buddies got a nice training regiment for our girls. We gotta test you out first, make sure you perform. You ever faced a nest before, baby?" he asked, pulling her down the dark alley.  
  
"Vampires? No, no, I'm not ready! I just started! Please don't do this!" She begged while trying not to smile. She twisted her hands behind her back, dislocating her right wrist so that it would slip out of the weak loops and snapping it back into place when she freed herself. She held the loose rope in her fists and waited, primed for her next move.  
  
"Shut up. Here." He came to an abandoned warehouse with a padlocked and bolted door. "These boys ain't ate in days." He reached for her and she reared back with her left fist, slamming it against his temple. He dropped the lead of rope and fell to his knees with a groan. Before he could recover from this initial blow, she kicked the other side of his head with the heel of her boot.  
  
"Fucker!" she screamed. She grabbed the rope lying on the ground and pulled his arms behind his back, heard both of his shoulders pop as she dug her boot into his back and tied him.  
  
"See, this is a fucking knot, asshole," she instructed, pulling the expert ties in place.  
  
She went back down the alley towards the bar for her leather bag. She pulled out the crossbow with the automatic stake loader and turned to the hunter. He struggled to his feet as she approached and desperately began running towards the pier, glancing back at her in terror.  
  
Shaking her head in disgust, she fired one of her stakes at the back of his leg and caught him directly through the right kneecap. He howled in an animal's screech of pain and fell to the ground. She caught up to the writhing man quickly.  
  
"Now see, that's just fucking rude. I only got so many of these to go around, ya know?" She yanked the stake out of the screaming man's knee, sending out a fresh flow of blood and enraged cursing.  
  
"I guess I can forget about you telling me where the keys for this shack are." She pulled him up by his shirt and propped him against the warehouse wall. She broke the chains holding the door handle with one hand, pried the door open a crack with her foot, and shoved the bleeding man inside.  
  
"NO! Fucking bitch! NO! NO! NO!" he shrieked, banging uselessly from inside the warehouse while she held the door fast. She felt the weight of the man release from the other side of the door and heard the familiar sound of vamps growling, ripping flesh, and feeding. She wrapped the chains loosely around the broken door handle and backed up, leaning against a brick wall with her crossbow aimed and ready to strike.  
  
Sure enough, half dozen vamps broke through the door after the feeding frenzy ended and headed her way. The automatic crossbow dusted each in quick succession.  
  
She entered the stuffy warehouse cautiously with the crossbow cocked, grimacing at the stink of nested, starving vampires. The remains of the man lay in the middle of the warehouse floor. She walked over and picked out his wallet from the pieces of torn and stained denim, pulling out the now blood-soaked wad of cash she'd given him in the bar.  
  
"Help me," she heard him gurgle.  
  
She tossed the wallet into the ripped open hollow of his chest. "No," she replied and left the warehouse.  
  
*** After Eve's call, Fred stepped up the research even further, calling in as many trusted consultants outside the realms of Wolfram & Hart that she could think of. She knew her experiment existed on borrowed time and often felt desperation tugging at her to submit, to give up, and to lose hope. She only had to look at Spike, how much he depended on her and believed in her, to keep going.  
  
"Anything good in that one?" she asked as he leafed through another book.  
  
"Not a bloody thing. I'll put it in the dead-end box." He gingerly picked up another text. "This one looks promising. According to Giles' note, it covers ancient spell-casting gems."  
  
She leaned over him. "What's it written in? Can you read ancient Zapotec script?"  
  
He met her eyes. "Not the last time I checked."  
  
"That makes two of us. I think I saw a translation dictionary in those books we put downstairs in storage. It'll be good to stretch my legs." Fred got up from the couch and glanced at him. He wore the most alluring intense expression while flipping through books, channeling his energy to turn the pages. Her stomach unexpectedly turned over when he met her eyes again.  
  
"What?" he asked.  
  
She moistened her dry lips and felt her cheeks burn. "I was going to ask what you wanted to order for dinner, and then I remembered you don't eat dinner."  
  
His eyes returned to the page. "Thanks for the thought, pet. You're ordering in again?"  
  
She bit on her thumbnail. "I guess."  
  
Fred couldn't stop looking at him, the curve of his jaw, the pout of his bottom lip. If only he would look at her and not stop, like the look they shared that day when she thought everything changed between them. With the threat of Eve hanging over them though, they'd returned to roommate status and Fred wondered if she'd imagined her connection with Spike. The more they worked these days, the less she felt it.  
  
Spike shook his head. "Never seen a bird so keen on the takeaway. You need a wholesome supper, brain food."  
  
She laughed nervously. "I keep telling myself that cooking is a kind of science, but it must be like taxonomy or entomology." She saw his lost expression. "I stink at those," she explained.  
  
"Ah." He finally held her gaze. "Something else?" he asked politely.  
  
"Are you horribly bored? We've done nothing but read and surf the net and study. Do you want to go out?"  
  
He shrugged. "Do you?"  
  
"I've never been one for the nightlife," she began. Then she remembered his connection to the amulet. "Oh, sorry, I get it. You can't go, unless I go and I take the amulet."  
  
He nodded his head slowly. "That's how it works, yeah."  
  
"I'm a terrible hostess," she apologized. "I'm so into the work we're doing. And, and I'm enjoying working with you, Spike. I don't feel like I need to leave," she added, standing awkwardly next to him, waiting for some indication that he understood her desire, that he shared it.  
  
His brief smile held no clues. "I feel the same."  
  
"You're so helpful," she continued. "And I want to thank you for that and for understanding, you know, after our big talk. As opposed to the little talks that we have, not that they aren't important."  
  
Spike looked back down. "No worries."  
  
"I think we should continue to move forward through the books that Mr. Giles sent, stay determined, and press onward for a solution," she finished, hoping he would talk her out of it.  
  
"Sounds very sensible."  
  
Fred gave up her brave face. "Why do you keep doing that?"  
  
He stared hard into the book. "Doing what?"  
  
"That!" Fred exclaimed, pointing at him. "You're not a man of few words- that I do know."  
  
He got up from the couch with a sigh and walked over to her. "Look. I thought we both decided I should leave you be. I'm not going to force myself on you."  
  
"Spike, why haven't you tried to touch me again?" she blurted.  
  
The determined lines of his mouth softened. "So that's what this is all about. Who says I haven't?"  
  
She suddenly realized the reason for his distance - he didn't want to disappoint her. "Oh, you mean you've tried and."  
  
"Nothing," he said, shaking his head sadly.  
  
Instead of sitting back down, he slid behind and she felt steam rise from him. "You think there isn't anything more I'd want to do than stroke the nape of your neck, caress your back, nibble your sweet ear, run my palms down your hips--is that what you want me to say?"  
  
Unwillingly, Fred felt her eyes close. "Spike--" she breathed.  
  
"You've thought of me talking to you like this?"  
  
"--Yes." She wanted to weep with the relief of hearing the desire in his voice.  
  
"All I've wanted is to be near you like this again. Remember what I asked you to do for me? Think about what you wanted?"  
  
She shuddered. "Please--"  
  
She thought she could feel his breath scorching her neck. "You're burning up, love, I can feel it. I feel you everywhere in me. Do you know that when you come to bed, I'm there? I feel you fall into me every night, almost like having you in my arms. Sweet beautiful Winifred--"  
  
Her head swam with heat and desire. Her body ached with wanting him and still she tried to fight the emotion.  
  
"Spike, you see me work all day with theories, and theorems, and suppositions about all the things that could happen, that might happen, when is anything ever real?" she whispered.  
  
"Sshh, I'm real, how I feel about you is real, how you feel about me--"  
  
She reached around to grab him and felt nothing but air. She pulled away. "I can't!"  
  
Spike bowed his head and laughed coldly. "So we're going to go back to denial are we? Looks like I'm as good as you when it comes to waiting, love."  
  
Fred squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out his words. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. Let's forget it." She backed up.  
  
He clenched his hands into fists. "Forget it. There's a pleasure. I'm to be a good quiet boy and we're both to believe that not one second of your day is spent wondering how I'd rate behind your little Hardy Boy in the lab if I were flesh and bone? You're not dying to know where this heat comes from?"  
  
"No, I'm mostly wondering where I'll rate in your life if I do my job right," she snapped and turned to walk out of the apartment.  
  
"Fred!" he yelled, reaching for her, making contact with her arm. They looked in wonder at the embrace of his wrist around her arm.  
  
"There's no contest, love," he said softly. " What I had before wasn't a life." His grasp slipped through her arm. "Bollocks."  
  
Fred stared in amazement and pieced the puzzle together. "No, wait, this is something. I can't believe I didn't think about this before. Both times when you've made contact with me, what's been happening with us?  
  
"We're tearing our bloody heads off?"  
  
"No," she said exasperatedly. "Not violence. I'm not really truly mad at you, or want to hurt you. Do you want to hurt me?"  
  
He sighed heavily. "Not even close." He raised his eyebrows. "Unless pinching counts."  
  
She blew short breaths into her sweaty palms. "It's the heat! Body heat. In a chemical reaction, heat's a catalyst." She caught sight of the amulet, its dull surface now glowing golden orange and yellow light, pulsing gently. "Look!"  
  
"Bloody hell."  
  
The wheels of her mind began turning. "That's it! I'm turning off the A/C and kicking on the heat, electric bill be damned. Maybe I should increase the temperature artificially, buy a kerosene heater? Or ten?" she asked while she raced around the apartment.  
  
"Hold on. Are we stirring the amulet up? Or is it the other way around?"  
  
She stopped. "Well, I don't know. I guess we need to test it out more."  
  
At that moment, her phone rang. The caller ID read, "GUNN, CHAS." She hit the speakerphone.  
  
"Hey, Charles. Long time no ring." Spike turned to leave the room, but she motioned for him to stay.  
  
"I've gotten all your messages, pretty lady. I'm just swamped. How goes the house arrest?" Spike furrowed his brow.  
  
"It's going really well, actually. We found some pretty good stuff today." She raised her eyebrows and smiled at Spike.  
  
"WE?"  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, me and Spike. He's a huge help with researching. He knows so much!" Spike brushed her compliment away modestly.  
  
"You still talking about Spike?" Gunn asked. Spike glared at the phone and flipped it the bird.  
  
Fred stifled a giggle. "We've really hit a stride these past weeks. Taking that amulet out of the lab really made a difference. It's changing, Charles, right before my eyes. I miss all of you guys, of course, that hasn't changed."  
  
"Hey, before I let you go, how about meeting all of your old buddies out for a drink tonight? Lorne's got some dance club deal going on, I know you're not all down with the club scene, but we'd love to see you." Fred jumped up and down. Spike shook his head back and forth.  
  
Fred clapped her hands lightly. "You know, that's a great idea. I'd love to go there. Dancing is great cardiovascular exercise." She sent thumbs-up in Spike's direction. He in turn made a pantomime of hanging himself.  
  
"Yeah exercise, that's definitely why I go out," Gunn answered sounding confused. "OK, so Caritas, at 10 o'clock."  
  
"Bye!" she shrieked and hit the button to end the call.  
  
"No fucking way," Spike told her flatly.  
  
"You're going. We have to test this out. I'll dance all night if I have to." She paused, thinking about all the ways she could increase body heat. "Maybe I'll even drink from strange glasses, get sick from somebody, and run a temperature!" She smiled excitedly.  
  
"Oh, yes, if we're truly fortunate you'll burn up with fever," he answered sarcastically. "Are you mad?"  
  
She walked over to him and looked deep into the eyes she'd come to love. "Spike, please."  
  
She watched the fight leave his body. "I'm seeing that I don't have a choice in this."  
  
"I'll wear the amulet tonight, to see what happens. You're stuck with me no matter what, so you might as well enjoy yourself," she said.  
  
"I'll go," he agreed grudgingly. "But I'm not showing my face in some sodding dance club."  
  
***  
  
Angel entered Caritas to a raging techno beat.Let me tell you something you don't know/If you keep the secret I won't show/I'm burning for you. Lorne had replaced the usual karaoke stage with a multicolored-lit dance floor, complete with spinning disco ball. Angel found Gunn at a table near the demon dancers.  
  
"Yo, where you been?" Gunn asked impatiently. " I've been calling you for an hour."  
  
"Something came up. Where's Fred?" Angel asked.  
  
"Check it out, man. Girl hit the floor the second she came in."  
  
Amid the crowd of demons, a raven-haired woman in a tight black v-neck blouse and short chiffon skirt danced gleefully alone. "That's Fred? That doesn't look like Fred," said Angel, her smiling face filling him with worry.  
  
"I hear that," Gunn sighed.  
  
"I'm giving up," Wesley said grimly, sitting at the table with two shots of tequila in hand. "I can't get a dance in edgewise."  
  
Angel couldn't stop watching her. "But Fred doesn't dance. At least, I don't think she does. Not alone."  
  
"She's not alone. See the lucky charm around her neck?" Gunn asked, pointing to her.  
  
"She's wearing the amulet. That means--Spike. I don't like this," Angel muttered.  
  
"Don't you love this?" Lorne approached them beaming. "Once a mere duckling, now behold our swan, shaking her tail feathers, and what plumage. A fabulouso debut night for Dance Fever Friday!"  
  
Angel pulled him aside. "Lorne, she's dancing with a ghost, the ghost of Spike no less. Why can't I see him, anyway?"  
  
"Seeing how I'm pulling a whole-two-left-feet vibe from our spectral guest, I'm thinking it's for the best. Not that our Fredling would care, she of the cotton candy colored aura," Lorne said.  
  
"When did this become a good thing with you? Last I knew you couldn't believe I was letting her go with him."  
  
"That's before I saw this. That is one smitten kitten. Bravo, ma fille. Tres chic," Lorne blew kisses in Fred's direction.  
  
"You read dancers now?" Angel demanded.  
  
"What reading? Take a gander at that youthful carefree glow. You do remember, don't you Hon? How our Fred's just a small lady with a big brain and a dearth of light-hearted souls around her?"  
  
Angel glanced at Fred again. "Sure, she's bored and lonely, so what a perfect time for an opportunistic manipulative ghost of a vampire to come into the picture."  
  
"I think you're confusing the vampire with the ghost. This incarnation of Spike isn't hurting Fred in the least. If he were, you'd see it-- instead of the ecstatic face she's got on," Lorne told him.  
  
Angel watched Fred mouth the words to the next song, and felt himself growing angrier by the second: Sometimes the way that you act makes me wonder/What I am to you and sometimes I can't stand the way that I'm acting/To be part of the things you do/Often I ask you for too much of your time like I'm stealing/ And when I dream of the fear that you're leaving/ I reach out my baby then you put your loving arms around me--  
  
He'd seen enough. "I gotta put a stop to this," he muttered.  
  
Lorne grabbed his arm. "Easy, Daddy Warbucks, hasn't she had enough of the hard-knock life? Come to think of it, where were you the last two times your roosters stormed her hen house?"  
  
"Gunn and Wesley? They were sweet on her, careful with her. They were no threat. She's never met someone like Spike," Angel explained.  
  
"'Sweet, careful, and no threat?' Sounds like a recipe for pudding, not passion. Let me tell you something about that pedestal you boys have perched her on, sweetie. She knows there's only one-way to go in your eyes, down and hard, so she never risks it. Spike doesn't know cow-slave Fred. Spike knows the Fred who's working to save his tuchis. In fact, he may know more of the real Fred than we ever will. Face it, Angel cakes," Lorne patted his shoulder. "Methinks our little girl is all growed-up."  
  
Angel couldn't help noticing her smile, her unabashed joy. "Lorne, is he going to ruin her?"  
  
"Hey, if Pylea can't do it, I doubt a vapor trail of a former vampire can. Seriously, boss, I'd love to hear our fangy friend's stirring rendition of 'Lust for Life' and check him out for you, but the microphone is off for the evening. And as of now, so am I. Nighty-night," Lorne waved and headed for the bar.  
  
Angel went out to the dance floor to retrieve Fred. She turned to him and grabbed his hands excitedly. "Angel, hi! Are you dancing with me?"  
  
"We were thinking of leaving but--Fred, you're burning up! Don't you want a drink and cool down?" he asked, feeling her hot and sweaty palms.  
  
"Spike just said something that I'm not going to repeat," she giggled.  
  
"Tell Spike I want him to show himself," Angel said angrily. "Tell him I'll rip that amulet off your throat and--"  
  
Spike materialized complete with a look of annoyance. "Easy! You and your dramatic flair. A little courtesy for the lady, please."  
  
"Fred knows I'd never hurt her. Does she know that about you?" Angel asked him.  
  
Fred peeked her head between them. "Yes, she does. I do. I'm Fred."  
  
Angel put his hand on her arm and glared at Spike. "I need a minute alone with him, OK?"  
  
She sighed. "Fine. I'll say goodnight to the guys."  
  
Angel and Spike moved off the dance floor and faced each other.  
  
"What's your game anyway?" Angel asked.  
  
Spike smirked. "She rolls the dice and gets me a body. I advance three spaces to tell you to bugger off."  
  
Angel tried to control his anger. "You have no idea what that girl's been through, how long its taken her to get a normal life."  
  
Spike looked around incredulously. "You call this normal? You've a daft sense of the everyday. Compared to what, her slave-gig? She's told me, not that she had to. Ancient history, mate."  
  
"I suppose you repaid the favor by regaling her with your tales of vamp packing through Europe?"  
  
"As a matter of fact, I did. She asked me. Unlike you, I told her," Spike said.  
  
"What are these, bedtime stories?"  
  
"Come off it, you know I can't touch her," Spike dismissed, but Angel saw Spike's eyes glance over and look for Fred. He'd never distrusted Spike more.  
  
Angel drew himself up to his full height and leaned into Spike's face. "You hurt her and I'll find a way to make you pay."  
  
Hearing familiar voices rising in anger, they turned towards the bar to see Gunn, Wesley, and Fred engaged in the middle of shouting match.  
  
"You're both pathetic!" Fred spat. "You're jealous over an experiment?"  
  
"Your freak-on with that ghost ain't no experiment!" Gunn growled. "You're making all moony-eyes at him and calling it science. It's sick."  
  
"You've isolated yourself completely from the people who care the most about you to bond with some inanimate thing? He's using you, Fred! God, are you blind?" Wesley continued contemptuously.  
  
"You don't know me at all, either of you! If you did, you'd rip your tongues out for what you're saying to me right now! How dare you!" she cried.  
  
Lorne rushed over to them followed by Spike and Angel. "OK, kiddies, recess is over.break it up here."  
  
Fred disengaged from the circle and stood next to Spike. "You don't know me," she told the men spitefully "And I don't care to know you, either. I don't want to understand what's caused you to do this." At that moment, her small body doubled over, her hands grabbing onto her head. Angel reached for her but Spike stepped in his way.  
  
"Not this time, Galahad. You don't get to save her this time."  
  
"Spike," Angel gritted his teeth. "She's not another goddamn contest! You can't challenge me and think you'll win her!"  
  
"You're right," Fred said to Angel fiercely. "He's already won." She ran out of Caritas and into the night. With a final glare at Angel, Gunn and Wesley, Spike took off after her.  
  
"Yes, scurry away, you weak useless incorporeal vermin--" Wesley muttered drunkenly.  
  
"Enough!" Angel shouted.  
  
Gunn shook his head. "Man, I don't know why I thought anything would change tonight. You're still the same, Boss, still tryna run everybody's deal," he said with disgust. "I'm outta here. You page me when you want a real partner, not some feel-good kiss ass." He strode out of the club.  
  
Wesley sat at the bar, shielding his eyes with one hand and gripping an empty shot glass with the other. "Another magnificent idea, Angel. Let's rally the team for poor Fred's sake. Thing is, she's not Poor Fred anymore. Wonder when that happened." He motioned for the bartender to fill the glass again.  
  
Angel rolled his eyes and leaned his head back in wearied frustration. "Wes, not you, too. I can't take another scene tonight. Come on, I'll walk you out. Haven't you had enough to drink?"  
  
"Not even close," Wesley grunted as he threw back the shot. "Seems to be the only way I sleep these days. Leave the bottle," he said to the bartender. "There's a good man."  
  
Angel looked at Wesley with concern. "You're not sleeping?  
  
Wesley turned to face him. The ex-watcher's stubbly, haggard face stared out to Angel devoid of any emotion, frighteningly blank. "You know, Angel. What did you really expect, when you made the decision to take on Wolfram and Hart? No consequences for you or any of us? We'd share notes in the morning at the coffee klatch and meet for lunch in the break room?" He asked with cold sarcasm.  
  
"I thought we could do some good, help people--" Angel began.  
  
"Ah, my noble leader, but there's the causal fallacy in your rhetoric!" Wesley grinned bitterly. "You didn't 'think' at all about us, only ran to grab your own brass ring." He poured another drink. "Go home to your penthouse, you champion of the people."  
  
Angel stared at Wesley's back, unable to comprehend the sudden turn of events that separated them. He walked over to Lorne sitting at the end of the bar.  
  
"You know, maybe Fridays are a little too rough for Dance Fever, get a much more relaxed crowd on say, Tuesdays," Lorne was saying to the bartender. He turned to Angel. "Everybody go to their respective corners, sweetie?" Lorne asked him.  
  
Angel looked completely baffled. "What the hell happened here tonight? I suggest a simple get-together with old friends and they all open up with barrels blazing."  
  
Lorne sighed. "Don't fool yourself. That little showdown's been waiting to happen for a long time, though something definitely brought it to a head tonight. Hon, your heart's pure, your intentions are noble to say the least. But you agreed to manage a firm of the devil's advocates here. Recall a turn of phrase: good intentions? Pavement to hell?"  
  
"Actually, the road to hell looks more like gravel," Angel pondered for a moment. "Do you think we've been set up? I knew the danger with taking over Wolfram & Hart, but I didn't think it would take over us. Now I'm remembering something: 'Lure them in with the prospect of gain, take them by confusion.' Damn it, why didn't I see this before?"  
  
Lorne held up his glass in salute. "The boy knows his Art of War after all. I suggest damage control big-time. Not raises either. Nothing Wolfram-in-sheep's-clothing related. Go on, son. Get your friends back."  
  
Angel heard the familiar strains of Burn, baby, burn and exited the club on those notes.  
  
*** Fred and Spike drove back to her apartment in silence. Despite her fiddling with the heat settings on the car's dashboard, the amulet recorded no change.  
  
She entered the apartment in a flurry of activity. She packed up all of their books and carted them down to storage. She went over to the thermostat and jerked the heat up. She looked around the apartment wildly for more ways to increase the temperature.  
  
"Love, what are you doing?" Spike asked gently.  
  
"Glad I got all of those books out of here, so I don't damage them, any minor fluctuation in temperature could turn them to dust, and since they're not mine."  
  
"Winifred, stop."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Why do you want to do this?" he asked.  
  
She stuck her chin out stubbornly "I want you to get your body back." She closed the window shades.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I want to help you," she mumbled, pulling blankets out of the cedar chest.  
  
"Why?" he demanded again, appearing behind her and forcing her to sit on the sofa.  
  
She jumped back up and moved around him, smiling anxiously. "You'd make a good scientist. You're good at asking probing questions."  
  
"And you're good at avoiding them. Haven't we danced around this long enough, love? If you get me solid again, what will you do with me?" he asked, his eyes pleading with her.  
  
She dropped her head and stepped backwards, making contact with the living room wall. "Spike--"  
  
"Because I know what I'll do with you," he said huskily, his voice like a caress over her. He leaned his hot presence against her.  
  
She closed her eyes and Spike brought his hand to her face, his palm stroking her cheek. "Who needs artificial heat?" he whispered.  
  
"I can feel you!" she said excitedly, her eyes flying open again, seeing the amulet flashing with light from around her throat  
  
"Don't move, don't break it," he answered. She leaned her head back, panting while he continued his slow exploration of her body. He traced his fingers into the notches of her ribcage, slipped down and kneaded her thighs through the slippery chiffon of her skirt. He pressed his lips gently at the base of her neck and sucked at the skin that trembled with her pulse.  
  
"Don't stop," she begged. "Please."  
  
"First things first, get rid of this," he muttered, pulling the amulet over her head. Suddenly it began to glow brighter when he pulled it into his grip.  
  
"What? What's happening?" she asked, looking up at him.  
  
He dropped to his knees and threw his head back, his mouth ripping forth a scream of unbearable agony. He clenched his fists, raising them up in horrified supplication, as if being scalded by the worst sort of acid.sulfuric it would have to be for sure, based on how his muscles were seizing up like rigor mortis, she thought. Realizing his actual pain, Fred rushed to him but he threw himself away from her like a caged animal.  
  
"No," he breathed, his whole body shaking. The jewel of the amulet had disappeared or rather, had completely transformed. He was enveloped in a thick amber-tinged cloud that radiated the warmth of a small fire. He shuddered as spirals of pain wracked his body.  
  
His raw suffering paralyzed her. All she could do was watch him in stunned helplessness. "My God, what do I do?" she cried stupidly, as she watched him writhe on the floor.  
  
"Get the meter," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Read me."  
  
Fred dropped her jaw in shock at the request. "No, no, I can't--not like this--not when you're--"  
  
"DO IT," he growled. He rolled over into a fetal position and faced her, his blue eyes gleaming fierce. "Do your job."  
  
She swallowed past the lump in her throat and steadied herself, desperate to feel the calm she usually found from using her brain. With shaking hands, she plugged the device into her laptop and flipped its switch. Before she could bring it to him, the meter began to crackle and hum. Scores of data poured onto the screen, the computer beeping faintly as it tried to keep up.  
  
"You're off the charts," she announced with undisguised delight. "Your heart rate--I'm getting your heart rate! Oh, but, it's registering as a human in cardiac arrest." she watched him desperately.  
  
Spike managed to shake his head, his teeth chattering, gulping through the torture.  
  
She looked back down at the meter. "You're registering a body temperature but--I can't tell whether--it's like you're just above freezing to death and just below burning up."  
  
He nodded, concurring with her diagnosis, and hurled himself onto his back. The bands of pain tightened on him anew and he howled again, his arms and legs contorting as if he were being electrocuted.  
  
"There are, there are high levels of carbon dioxide being emitted," she read in a loud uneven voice. "That is concurrent with you processing oxygen through human respiration."  
  
His arms and legs returned weakly to the floor, still vibrating with the force of the energy pulsing through him. The golden vapor around him began to pulse. His chest heaved with the labored effort of his breathing and she heard his lungs begin to wheeze from the strain.  
  
"And your, your brain waves," she sobbed. "Are characteristic for a human man who is, God, who's being burned to death and I CAN'T! I can't do this!" She dropped the meter on the floor and ran to him.  
  
She flung herself across his quivering body and cried out as the liquid fire seeped through her skin. He grabbed on to her violently and buried her face into his chest trying to shield her from the pain his body caused her. The fog surrounding them expanded until the entire space throbbed with its heat and glare. She felt the floor and walls begin to tremble, heard the foundations squeak with the tension of holding the room together. The solid construction of the building groaned beneath them like a rickety shed and the concrete floor below them bowed under their heat. With a final lunge, the pent-up energy exploded through her picture window, shattering glass around them, which immediately evaporated into smoke. The amber light dissolved into a dusty haze as it floated out of the apartment and into the humid, smoggy air.  
  
Lifeless, they huddled together on the floor, soaked with sweat and tears, covered with a fine, yellow powder like the pollen of a spring day. He lay dressed in the clothing he'd last worn in Sunnydale, both the outfit and the body wearing it intact.  
  
End of part two.  
  
Notes: "Special K" is the street name for animal tranquilizers, used as an illegal drug; Lyrics to Burn for you, by Kreo, used without permission; Lyrics to Your Lovin' Arms, by Billie Ray Martin, used without permission; Lyrics to Disco Inferno, by the Trammps, used without permission; Angel's quote from The Art of War by Sun-Tzu used without permission 


	3. Part Three Aftermath

[Just a note to thank all of you for reading thus far and for enduring these brutally long parts that take an eternity to load. As soon as I can code like a champ, I'll reformat with shorter chapters. Now on with the story!]  
  
Part Three "Aftermath"  
  
"Spike..." Fred moaned and stirred in his arms.  
  
He pulled her head out of his damp shirt, looked into her face. "Win, you're all right, aren't you?" She brought her head up groggily and recognized his arms and body wrapped around hers.  
  
"Look!" Fred thumped his chest with her hand, beaming excitedly.  
  
"I'll be damned. Round and firm and fully packed," he noted. "Like the finest smokes." He stared at his own body in amazement.  
  
She couldn't stop looking at him, holding on to him. The whole room spun before her eyes and she felt completely drained of energy.  
  
He patted her hair with a clumsy hand and she realized how unfamiliar touch must be to him. "Any chance that mighty scanner of yours can tell what the hell happened to us just now?" he asked.  
  
Fred looked over to the floor where she had left the scanner and saw instead a twisted glob of melted plastic and warped metal. "Nope. Looks like it's pretty much toast." She fingered the dust on her arm. "I'm stuck between wanting to take a sample of this stuff and wanting to jump into the shower as quickly as possible," she said, sniffing her fingertips and grimacing.  
  
"Lovely thought, that shower," Spike murmured into her hair, kissing her cheeks, her closed eyelids. She watched his body come to life, his cheeks flushed with new color. "Why the doom-and-gloom, love? You've done what I knew you could do! You bloody saved me. Let's fire up the pomp and circumstance. We've earned it, don't you think?" He sat up and took her hand.  
  
"Wait," she held him back. "I don't think it's that simple. I'd love it to be, don't get me wrong, but I don't even know what kind of energy this was. Something that melts glass, pops light bulbs, but does nothing more to us than," she fingered the grainy dust. "Get us dirty? I want to know what this was." She looked dismally around her ruined apartment. "After I repaint. And replace the carpet. And do something about my window. I'm going to be paying off my security deposit until I'm a hundred."  
  
"That's not all of it," he frowned, pointing at the charred desk and smoldering chair. A fine plume of smoke curled from the laptop computer, its screen folding limply into itself like a ripe cheese. "Got an abacus stowed somewhere?"  
  
"Oh, no," she groaned. "All my equipment, my reports! How am I ever going to find out what's happened to you?"  
  
Spike rolled her gently over onto the floor and pulled his leg possessively around her. "You'll have to take me for a test ride," he whispered and bent his head to kiss her.  
  
The apartment door shuddered with heavy pounding.  
  
"There's still a bloody door?" he exclaimed.  
  
A voice echoed from the hallway. "This is building security. Please open up."  
  
Her face was wracked with terror as the events of the evening registered. "What am I going to do?"  
  
"After all this, you're sweating a bloody rent-a-cop? Here," he moved off of her. "I'll get this git sorted." She stood up carefully, the weakness in her knees coming from either the explosion of energy or from Spike's body, she couldn't tell.  
  
"No, this is my apartment. I can deal with this. Besides, what if he can't see you? Then I'll have even more explaining to do." She brushed some of the dust off her clothes. "It's dark, maybe he won't notice." She reluctantly opened the door.  
  
A forbidding middle-aged man with gray hair trimmed in a military cut stood before them. The auxiliary power lights in the hallway gleamed spookily behind him.  
  
"Oh, hello there, thanks for coming by, sir. Sure nice of you to check in on us, uh, on me. So what's all the trouble here, officer? Did the power go out or something?" she rambled nervously.  
  
"Among other things," the scowling man replied. He lifted up his large Maglight by its stem and dangled it before her. He stepped forward and flicked the flashlight on, assessing the damage before him.  
  
"I can explain, sir, you see, it all started when I brought this Bunsen burner home one day and..."  
  
"Jesus. What a mess in here, some kind of party. Mind if I come in? You're not one of those Heaven's Gate nut jobs are you? Get some kind of disaster; they think it's time to welcome home the mother ship. You ain't one of those, are you miss?"  
  
"Pardon? I mean, no, no I'm not...--" She looked nervously over her shoulder when the beam of his light continued to inspect the room's debris.  
  
"I always ask, you never can be too careful in this city. Jeez," he whistled again as the flashlight paused at the hole in the wall. "I'll send up Maintenance with some plastic for that window. You're the worst hit I've seen tonight. From what I can see, that is." He continued to shine the light over her peeling walls, her blackened carpet, and finally over Spike.  
  
"You should have backup power for lights. Try flicking a switch?" The guard walked over to her circuit breaker behind her front door.  
  
"No, the light bulbs all--"  
  
"Exploded?" he finished for her.  
  
"Well. Yes. How, how did you know that?"  
  
"Been through a few of these. Back oh, fifty years ago, you might notice a spark or two. But all the electricity folks pull these days. You wouldn't get hit this hard if people could do without all their little toys," the older man sighed, took off his hat and scratched his balding head.  
  
"Hit by what this hard?" she asked in a small voice.  
  
"By the earthquake! Rocked our transformers right off their hinges and sent out a surge twice the size of what they put out! But you'll be up and running in no time. You sit tight, you'll ride it out." He smiled past her to the man standing behind her. "Live on love, eh kids."  
  
Spike stepped up behind her and put his arm around her astonished shoulders. "Absolutely. Best idea I've heard all day. Or second best, come to think of it."  
  
"Kids?" she echoed unbelievably, slowly coming out of her reverie.  
  
The chastened man held up his hand. "Ah, I'm sorry miss, I guess the correct term these days is young people. To an old guy like me--"  
  
"No, you said kids, kids, plural, both of us. You can see both of us? Me and him?" Fred earned a jab in the ribs for that comment. "It's important!" she told both of them earnestly.  
  
The guard warily backed up towards the door. "Lady, this ain't war of the worlds and that quake tonight wasn't no invisibility ray. Sure I can see both of you." He pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket and held it out to her. "Here, make sure you fill this out for the insurance company, it's on their dime. Wouldn't want you to foot the bill for all that swanky computer gear." The man, looking much more tired now, spoke loudly and slowly. "You've got renter's insurance, right miss?"  
  
She nodded dumbly, staring blindly at the insurance form he stuck in her hand. Spike squeezed her.  
  
"Good," the man sighed, watching her cautiously. "In the meantime, you might want to bunk somewhere else tonight. I got more units to check on. And son," the guard pulled him over for a moment, speaking in confidential tones. "Look after the girl. She acts like she took a good knock to her old melon, if you know what I mean."  
  
"I'll take the best possible care of her," Spike promised grandly, and closed the door.  
  
"Ready to play doctor?" he smirked, returning to her side with open arms. She moved into his embrace, sniffing his neck, behind his ear, the hollow of his collarbone.  
  
"Enough with the truffle hunting, what do you think you're doing?"  
  
"You smell fine," she said thoughtfully.  
  
"There's a comfort," he retorted.  
  
"Stinky, but not undeadish." She looked at him in wonder. "How do you feel?"  
  
"Honestly? Hungry."  
  
Her mouth dropped open. "Oh, of course."  
  
She stumbled to the kitchen on an uneasy mission. Her cracked pane of glass was gone; all the panes of glass in all the cabinets were gone. She ransacked her kitchen drawers and pulled out a tiny flashlight. She went to the bathroom, which was disaster-free compared to the other rooms of the apartment, and shined the beam of light around cautiously. She saw that the explosion had smashed the mirror, the sink basin strewn with pieces of glass. With a touch honed by adjusting slides under the microscope, she gingerly picked up a shard of the mirror.  
  
He came up behind her. "What are you on about, love?"  
  
She tilted the reflection over her shoulder. What she saw caused her fingers to shake abruptly around the glass and jab it through her forefinger. She turned quickly back to him to confirm the mirror's revelation and saw his eyes affixed on her hand. He cupped it gently and stared.  
  
She glimpsed there the memories of thousands of feedings flash at the scent of her blood: how he would wade his tongue into the open well of blood and lick thickly, wear out his teeth on the firm delicate flesh, gnaw on the warm meat of skin, and feel the soft crunch of bones under his bite. But her arm relaxed under his grip. No evidence of the demon emerged to rear up and claim its prey. Spike's reflection danced in the bloodied piece of mirror she still held.  
  
"You're not," she began.  
  
He shook his head briefly. With warm fingers, he pried the glass out of her fingers and dropped it into the sink. "Let's get you cleaned up," he whispered gruffly.  
  
He pulled the cold tap of the sink on with a rusty squeak but squeezed out only a splash of water to clear the wound on her finger.  
  
"They'll have turned the pipes off," she pointed out.  
  
"Right. Emergency lockdown, where's the alcohol?" She pointed under the sink and he retrieved the first aid kit.  
  
Spike cleaned off her wound swiftly and she cringed when the disinfectant reopened the cut, setting forth a fresh stream of blood. He grabbed a washcloth from the rack next to them, pressed it into the gash, and held her arm above her head. She watched his techniques in amazement.  
  
Holding the tiny flashlight between his teeth as he worked, he bandaged the finger quickly and skillfully. He placed the flashlight on the edge of the sink when he finished. "Knew those slayer lessons would come in handy. Although next time you want to revisit dissection class, would you give me a bit of warning?"  
  
Fred looked away in shame. "Sorry."  
  
He cupped her chin and met her eyes. "That little paper cut could have been bloody dangerous. If I had even a drop of vamp in me, I could have snapped you in two. It was rash, it was thoughtless, and it was no end to stupid. This guinea pig has fangs, love," he finished. Fred felt her chin tremble and steadied it, holding his worried gaze.  
  
"Had them, you mean," she said quietly.  
  
"Well. When I say I'm hungry, I'll have to be more specific," he added with a lopsided grin.  
  
"We needed to get your reflection. When I saw the glass in the sink. I had to take a chance."  
  
He tilted his head at her curiously and she felt nervous again. "That didn't bother you? Win, I could've killed you."  
  
"Oh, I don't want to die," she said, looking away to adjust the tape of her bandage. "I did a quick analysis. I tried to think of all the possibilities, like I'd run any compound through the empirical formula."  
  
"That would be you, going all empirical on me," he joked affectionately.  
  
"Look at you," she marveled. "All stinky and human." She patted his cheek with a timid hand.  
  
"Because of you," he whispered, turning his head to kiss her fingers, his eyes never leaving her face. "Thank you, love. Thank you for bringing me back. In every way."  
  
"I really didn't do anything," she stammered. Her cheeks burned and she retrieved her hand, the fingers moist with his kisses. She gestured to the sink. "How do you look? I mean, how do you think you look?"  
  
Spike smiled faintly and dipped his head next to hers. He held up one of the bigger pieces of glass and caught their reflection together in the moonlight. "Like this?" he asked. "As bloody lucky as I feel."  
  
His presence loomed huge beside her, seemed to pull all of the air out of the room. Her smile trembled next to his.  
  
"Hey, do you feel up for another experiment?" She held out her hand to him. "I've got a whole refrigerator of food about to spoil."  
  
He choked on the bread that he said tasted like sand in his mouth, the flavorless fruit, even the bland steak she cooked over her Bunsen burner. Still, he wolfed down whatever she put in front of him.  
  
"How is everything?" she asked him, popping another handful of grapes in her mouth.  
  
"God fucking awful," he answered, his mouth full. "Don't waste any gourmet grub on me, couldn't tell the difference from garbage."  
  
"Thanks, I'll cook for you often," she said with a smile. They sat cross- legged on the scorched kitchen tile and candlelight flickered across the room.  
  
"Kind of a let down really," he said thoughtfully, dropping the last crust of bread onto a plate. "Thought my first solid meal as a solid bloke would be more of an occasion."  
  
"Oh, if you want we can go out, but I don't know what's open, and I don't know what you like, maybe the Szechwan Garden?"  
  
"Love, there's no place I'd rather be than with you right here and now," he moved closer to her and squeezed her hand. The minor touch sent shivers through her and her stomach turned over with butterflies.  
  
"Well, maybe someplace a mite softer. Like here," he kissed one cheek. "Or here," he kissed the plump swell of skin along her jaw. Spike dipped his head down to hers and rubbed his forehead against her temple.  
  
If she listened to her body and her heart, Fred would fall into him. Alone, a midnight picnic by candlelight, this was what some couples called romantic. She felt his body heat radiate through her pores. No question he wanted her, possibly more than any man had, and unlike any other man in her history, this one was prepared to stake his claim completely. But she couldn't turn off her brain. She imagined the biology of a man who'd recently acquired a body. Food wouldn't be the only thing he'd want. She would be here to fill his needs now, but how long would it be before he would seek out the woman he truly loved? She swallowed nervously as her palm began to sweat inside his. Without a body, he'd remained safe; now she was terrified.  
  
"How are you feeling?" she heard herself ask in a strange, high-pitched voice. "Since the equipment's gone, I'll have to rely on you for my clinical notes. Everyone's going to be so surprised. And, and pleased, when we go back to work."  
  
She felt Spike freeze beside her. He dropped her hand back into her lap. "So, you're back to the noble pursuit of science? I'll make a fine little project for you to display under the glass. Show off your handiwork to all your friends? Now that you've gotten your little rebellion out of the way."  
  
She shook her head and moved away from him. "I don't know what you mean." The fear clutched her throat and held her bound.  
  
He shook his head sadly and got up from the floor, running his fingers through his hair. "That makes two of us buggered, then, doesn't it? God," he panted, rubbing his chest. "Can you hear that? Is that my breathing? You can't hear that?" He began to pace the kitchen anxiously. She sensed his growing panic, but remained frozen to the floor.  
  
"I thought that this was what you wanted, me, whole again. Well, I'm here, pet. What haven't I proven to you? Fuck, I can feel it, I can feel everything! No, I can't do this. Not again, not with you," he choked. He tore out of the room.  
  
"Spike!" she cried.  
  
She tripped down the stairs of the hallway in an effort to catch him before he disappeared into the night. She stood at the flagstone path in front of her apartment complex. He was gone.  
  
"No," she breathed. There was only one person she could call who could help her, but how? She hurried to the pay phone around the corner and found it lying on the sidewalk like an uprooted tree. At that moment, the devastation around her came into focus.  
  
The whole block was dark save for the dim illumination of a few emergency lights. Sirens wailed and bleated in the distance. Strings of electrical and phone lines hung limply from their poles, some had been ripped out from their fastenings and strewn across jagged fissures in the road. Fire hydrants sat next to dribbling pipes of water like popped champagne corks.  
  
"How could I?" she whispered. "What have I done?"  
  
"Hey pretty lady!" A young man's voice called out to her.  
  
She spied the blonde surfer neighbor from the bungalow across the street cooking on a gas grill. Fred crossed the street, hopping over the wires and the deep cracks.  
  
"Hi, do you have a cell phone I could use? Mine's a little fried."  
  
"Sure, but I've got the town's best quake-party, right here. Soy dogs, fresh off the grill."  
  
"No, no thanks. Just a phone that works."  
  
"Here," he pulled the phone out of his pocket. "All juiced up and ready to go."  
  
Fred moved into the lawn and quickly dialed Angel's number. In a rush, she explained what had happened.  
  
"You stay put. I'll go out looking for him," Angel said.  
  
"I should go. He'll think I don't care."  
  
"No, there's a city curfew until 7 am. I'll send the guys over for you. Bolt the door until they get there." He hesitated on the phone. "You did it," he added gently. "Not that I had any doubt."  
  
"Yeah, I did it," she said faintly. The alarm of a fire truck blared loudly as it barreled down a side street. "I sure did."  
  
Lorne pulled up to the apartment building in a chauffeur-driven company limousine and found a dejected Fred waiting on the front stoop of her apartment building.  
  
"Where are we going?" she asked. "Where is everybody?"  
  
His smile flashed sympathy and reassurance. "Your boy wonders are sitting out any dance that has Spike in it, sweets. Angel said you should recoup at the penthouse."  
  
She began to back out of the limo. "Oh, no, no way, I'll go back upstairs, I can't go to Angel's. Spike, he won't understand."  
  
"Easy there, Sweetness and Light," Lorne said. He pulled out his cell phone, conducted a brief, hushed call, and flipped it shut. "Driver, change of plans. The Regent Beverley Wilshire."  
  
"I can't stay there, Lorne, the whole town's probably booked."  
  
Lorne helped her into the car. "Big-wig in the biz owes me one. Can you believe someone would actually consider selling his soul to make 'Pretty Woman, Part 2?' I mean, hello, why mess with a classic? Besides, I don't know of anyone more in need of a perk than you, kid." Lorne patted Fred's knee. "We'll tell your fella where you are. Boy, there's going to be one tidal wave of a Sea Breeze for me when this day ends."  
  
*** Leah skipped down the broken pavement on the way to Caritas, enjoying the electrical sparks from the charred lines above her and relishing the sound of sirens and smell of fear that permeated the streets. It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, Leah hummed to herself.  
  
The power outage from the quake successfully short-circuited the previously impenetrable security system of Lorne's apartment. Leah wasted no time in replacing all of his personal bottles of vodka with a clear ethanol/alcohol combination she concocted. She felt a chill of excitement in engineering the surprise of it all – no one knew when the sickness would hit him, not even her.  
  
She next entered the deserted club, expecting no staff or customers to interfere with her replacement of the bar bottles of vodka. Instead she saw an unconscious man passed out on one of the stools. She walked over to him and pulled his head back.  
  
"OK, buddy, time to go," she began and then caught sight of his face: the Wyndham-Pryce guy, Lilah's lover.  
  
"Well, what do you know?" she whispered, imitating Lilah's husky teasing purr.  
  
Wesley's eyes fluttered open. "Lilah? It can't be."  
  
"My poor baby," Leah crooned. "What have they done to you? Let's get you home and into bed."  
  
"I'm dreaming," Wesley muttered, reaching drunkenly for his glasses. Recognizing that he was not as drunk as she'd hoped, Leah hauled back and punched him out with a solid right hook.  
  
"Not dreaming yet," she said, dragging him to his feet and over her shoulder. "But you will be."  
  
***  
  
Depression in paradise; there's probably some kind of sin for that, Fred thought. Another morning of breakfast on a silver platter, another red rose garnish, another sleek company vehicle whisking her to work and back, it all meant another day without Spike. She'd allowed the old collar of fear to hold her back on more than one occasion, but never with such devastating consequences. When she thought about all the things he must have been feeling with his new body, the strangeness of it all, coupled with her rejection, it made her sick to her stomach. I abandoned him, she thought, because I couldn't believe he could touch me. No, he had already touched me. I couldn't bear to have him stop.  
  
Numb to the lush surroundings of the hotel, Fred bumped sluggishly through her life while the construction crews rebuilt her apartment. She launched herself back into the routine of work hoping to dull her sadness. Sensing her inexplicable grief, the lab associates stepped around her carefully and spoke only of science – even Knox. Research provided no solace; her safest shelter, the lab, only reminded her what she'd lost.  
  
"Fred, I'll keep going out until I find him," Angel promised her on the third night of searching. "I'm bound to pick up his scent."  
  
"Thank you for trying," she shrugged. "He's probably already gone."  
  
He pulled her into a hug. "If that's true, and I'm not saying it is, then isn't it for the best? You gave him an incredible gift. If he can't see that, then he doesn't deserve it."  
  
"I know he appreciates that I got his body back. I didn't need to be thanked."  
  
Angel stroked her hair. "I wasn't talking about his body. I was talking about you."  
  
Fred broke down in sobs and buried her face in his chest. "I'm so unhappy! I miss him so much."  
  
"I know," Angel said grimly. "I'm going to do whatever I can to change it." He kissed the top of her head and returned to the night.  
  
Angel caught the familiar essence of Spike emanate from one of the rougher sections of downtown LA. He turned down a deserted warehouse district and found Spike weaving down the alley, mumbling and sipping from a fifth of bourbon.  
  
"Bloody clinical. I'll write your fucking clinical. The head bone's connected to the heart bone that always gets broken in the end. Bitch brings me back to kick me down the stairs. FUCK!" He screamed and smashed the empty liquor bottle against a brick wall. "Thought this time it was different. Felt different. Felt the best ever."  
  
Angel appeared out of the shadows. "You're easier to track now that you're drunk. All I had to do was follow the sweaty trail of leather and --" Angel sniffed the air. "Whiskey? Where'd you get that? You have money?"  
  
"Angelus, you've so soon forgotten the best part about a good skirmish in this city? All the lovely looting?" Spike smirked.  
  
Angel looked at him with what he hoped was all the loathing he felt. "You looted a liquor store?"  
  
"I didn't," Spike argued. "I helped myself after the mob stole the till and torched the place." He unscrewed the cap on another fifth. "Let a fine malt of this age go to waste and that's alcohol abuse, is what that is. Cheers," he held up the bottle and took a gulp, wincing as the liquor made contact with a cut in his lip.  
  
"I'm so glad to see how much this gift of a body has changed you for the better," Angel noted with a roll of his eyes.  
  
"Nothing's changed. A lady crushes my heart and you're on cue as usual, mate. Middle of my bloody misery and you show up. Go ahead," Spike pulled off his duster and tossed it on the cement. "I'm as down as I can get. Let the kicking begin."  
  
"I came here to help," Angel started.  
  
"You know how you can help me? Riddle me this: Why can't I find a nice bird, a nice bloody bird who won't go stark raving nutters on me?" Spike yelled into the alley. "Oh, tell a chippie some ponce like you wants her and she laps it up and rolls over begging for more," he continued to mutter. "When it comes to me, she says, oh no, I'd rather take a case of the rabid boils thank you very fucking much."  
  
Angel cleared his throat, trying to remain patient. "Spike, I think the senior partners are trying to run some kind of divide-and-conquer on us, divert us from some other plan. We have to stick together," Angel said. "All of us. Especially you." He gulped back his disappointment and forced himself to say the words aloud. "You know, the prophecy. You being, uh, human."  
  
Spike's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Earned some respect, have I? Wish I knew that sooner, I would have had that buggering shaman book me on the upgrade plan. He could've made me a sad sodding heap of bones with a soul and a pulse."  
  
"Could you sober up enough to cut the stand-up routine for a minute?" Angel yelled back, losing his struggle for calm. "This isn't all about you. I've got a broken hearted girl on my hands and I want to know what to tell her. Fred thinks you're leaving to find Buffy."  
  
Spike shook his head sadly. "Can't leave. Not even to chase down the slayer. There was a time when that's all I could think about. But it's faded since then; do you know what I mean? I love her but we missed our time." He sipped pensively. "There's only one girl in my heart, if you haven't noticed. I've nipped at her heels for weeks."  
  
"All Fred knows is that you left her. What I want to know is why you haven't left town. Is it some affect of the amulet?"  
  
"No, it's not the amulet, damn it. I can't go any farther because, because I love Winifred, God help me. I can't leave and I can't go to her. She doesn't want me," Spike muttered.  
  
"She does want you, though I can't say I see why," Angel said dryly. "She needs to know where you stand. Am I going to have to do that too? Or are you coming back with me?"  
  
Spike stared at him for a moment. He tossed the liquor bottle into an open dumpster. "I'll get my coat."  
  
Fred heard the knock at midnight, which meant Angel checking in with more bad news. She almost dreaded opening the door.  
  
Angel stood in the hallway, struggling to hold up a barely conscious Spike. "Last stop," Angel muttered. "Veranda Suite, cute girls and hot showers."  
  
"My God," Fred gasped when she saw them. She took Spike's other arm and helped him into one of the chairs.  
  
"'Allo Ducks," he slurred, nuzzling her neck. "Give us a kiss." His head slumped forward as he blacked out.  
  
"What happened to him?" she asked. Spike's left eye was bruised and swollen shut, a matched set with his cut and bloodied lip. Covered in a layer of city grime, grease streaked through his hair, and his face shadowed with the beginnings of a beard.  
  
Angel smiled sympathetically. "I think he was testing out the whole 'beat some sense into yourself' theory."  
  
She shook her head. "I don't understand."  
  
"He's been on something of a bender, Fred. He was pretty lucid when I first found him, but he faded fast once I got him into the car. You have to remember, we've been without human bodies for decades. The sensory overload itself could drive you crazy," Angel explained carefully. "It definitely helps to have someone around to ground you."  
  
She felt overwhelmed with guilt. "And I took care of that when I turned my back on him." She knelt down in front of Spike. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.  
  
His good eye opened and he patted her head weakly. "S'alright."  
  
Angel leaned down and handed her a brown shopping bag. "Some extra clothes, first aid kit." He hesitated. "He only talked about you, Fred. Take care of each other. Keep me posted." He stood up to leave.  
  
Fred flung her small body into his arms and hugged him. "I'm sorry to you, too. Thank you for bringing him here."  
  
"It's where he wants to be," Angel answered, releasing her. "I just showed him the way."  
  
Fred then launched into full medical alert. She called room service for crackers, broth, and steamed vegetables, the most nourishing and hydrating foods she could think of. She pulled two bottles of water out of the suite's refrigerator, putting one in the bathroom and another by the bed. She grabbed the bag of supplies.  
  
"Oh, boy, here we go," she grunted as she heaved Spike to his feet. The weight of him nearly brought her to her knees but she managed to get him into the large walk-in shower and situated on its built-in bench. Spike leaned his head back against the wall of the shower, sighing in what sounded like relief and she watched his chest heave with labored breathing. Fred sat beside him and started the bottle of water down his throat. He thrashed weakly, gasped, spit the first swallows out and then gulped in earnest when he found his thirst.  
  
"More," he gasped when he finished the bottle.  
  
She took a deep breath and found the scientist and the woman merging into one complete person. Stripping off his filthy clothes with a careful hand, she realized that his body didn't frighten her anymore. Neither frightening nor separate, but a body raw and beautiful and beloved—she already knew him, what was a little skin and bone? Her fingertips brushed over the bruises on his ribs and one on his hip, softly checking the muscles for trauma and swelling. She bathed his wounds delicately, oblivious to the warm shower that soaked through her nightgown.  
  
"Bet you do this for all your guinea pigs," he mumbled.  
  
"I do when they're this dirty," she replied, shampooing his hair vigorously. "The laundry may burn your clothes instead of washing them."  
  
"Don't let them get the coat, love. Keep the coat."  
  
She wrapped him in one of the suite's terrycloth robes and assisted him to bed. She set to the next task of feeding him, and after a few mouthfuls of food, the color returned to his face and the spark to his eyes, which watched her cautiously.  
  
"Oh, you're loving this, aren't you?" he asked scornfully.  
  
She shoved a forkful of carrot into in his mouth with a jerk. "What? Seeing you hurt? I hate it, actually."  
  
"Not the hurt. The helplessness, like a little kitty in a basket. What happens when the tiger comes out and wants to play? You hurrying back to the lab to take my big scary body away again?" he mocked.  
  
Fred pressed her lips together and offered another spoonful of broth, her hand trembling slightly. "Eat your soup."  
  
He took the bowl and spoon and placed it on the nightstand. He reached up and fingered a lock of her hair, tucked it behind her ear. He continued more softly and kindly. "I spooked you, didn't I love? More as a man than as a spook, it turns out. You're a flipped bit of pence, aren't you?"  
  
She shrugged tiredly, feeling as though she had lost him all over again. "I guess."  
  
"You best be sure now," he said mildly. "Our kind has to stick together." She looked up and saw him smiling. "Now my bright penny: Heads or tails?" She reached up to touch his face and he took her hand, knitted the shaking fingers through his own.  
  
"Heads it is then. But let me," he whispered. "You've had a turn. Now let me touch you. How I've wanted to touch you."  
  
She caught her breath and forced herself still, allowing him to explore her. He traced her jaw line with his thumb, pinched the pudge of her chin gently between thumb and forefinger, and tugged gently on her lower lip. Her tongue darted tentatively against the tips of his fingers and his eyes blazed with fresh interest when she nibbled his pads of skin. She shivered as his moist thumbnail grazed the upper edge of her lip, while his other hand cupped her cheek and drew her slowly to him. She closed her eyes and opened her lips, his warm breath stirring against her skin.  
  
"This all right?" he asked.  
  
"Mmm, yes," she breathed.  
  
"Winifred," he said softly, moistening her dry lips with tentative teasing licks.  
  
She peeked through her half-closed lids. "Uh-huh?" she asked guardedly.  
  
"If I have my way, that's the longest you'll ever have to wait to be kissed again." He moved his mouth over hers, first testing the pliancy of her lips before pressing down, crushing her lips against his. He held her face delicately between his hands and leaned forward to sip at her mouth again, drinking the long, slow draughts of a loving cup.  
  
He spent hours loving her mouth, kisses long and deep, tracing the inside of her mouth with his warm, thick tongue, nipping her jaw and sucking on her lips until her whole mouth felt crimson hot and swollen. Just when she thought that they would stop, a fresh burst of desire rose up and claimed them again. He spread her body on the sheets, pulling the nightgown over her head and running his hands up and down her shivering frame. He stretched her arms gently over her head and knitted her fingers with his own. The robe long abandoned, he lay on top of her, easing his own sweaty flesh onto hers. She rose up to meet him, stroked the back of his calves with her toes, winding herself around his cords of quivering muscle and jutting angled bone. Her hands clenched against his palms restlessly.  
  
"Spike, please," she whispered. "You're driving me crazy." She squirmed beneath him and against him in silent need.  
  
"Mmm-hmm," he grunted. "That's it, that's my girl. Make sure this is what you really want."  
  
"It is," she gasped. "Please. I want you to..."  
  
"Want me to what, baby?"  
  
"Spike..." she rested her forehead against his shoulder and bit her lip. "Make love to me."  
  
"Sure now?" he asked teasingly.  
  
"Yes," she answered, feeling the pleading in her voice. "Please."  
  
"Ah, so pretty to beg. My sweet girl knows how to say please, knows how to ask for what she wants. You going to make me beg, too? Want to hear me say, 'please, love?' Hmm?"  
  
"Yes," she gasped, her whole body flushing. "Oh, God, Spike. Yes."  
  
"Please, Win," he groaned, pressing against her. "Please let me take you, sweetheart."  
  
"Yes, I want you to, I'm not afraid."  
  
He smiled at her lovingly, delighting in her frustration. "Who said anything about being afraid?" He tightened his grip on her fingers and pressed her harder into the mattress. "Just want to take things nice and slow. Good and slow for my good lovely girl."  
  
When she thought that she could not bear being held down much longer, he released her hands and she grabbed his back, pulling him against her. She made the most of his temporary weakness and rolled on top of him.  
  
"Not that slow," she told him.  
  
He reached back and dug his fingers into the back of her scalp, clenching the damp strands of her hair in his fist. He pushed her head down to his and locked her aching mouth against his kiss.  
  
Much later, with him spooned behind her, the skin that seemed once so alien to Fred, she could no longer distinguish from her own. She reached back with her hand to caress his face, feeling him suck and nibble the soft pillow of her palm. He pulled her around to face him and kissed her again.  
  
"Did we sleep?" she asked lazily.  
  
"I hope not, I'll kill myself if I'm dreaming," he said, kissing her neck and shoulders.  
  
She bent her head so that he could get behind her ear and saw a fresh bruise on his chest. "What did that?"  
  
Spike grinned and pointed at her. "Me?" she asked, staring at the bite mark. "No, it couldn't...well," she considered, remembering the passionate events of the night before. "Maybe."  
  
"No maybes about it, love," he confirmed. "Looks like I'm not the only one with teeth." She shoved against him playfully.  
  
He sat her up to face him and she felt a flutter of nervousness at seeing his grave expression. He stroked her matted and tangled curls, his eyes alighting over her features. "I love you, Winifred. All of me that's here is yours."  
  
Her eyes filled slightly, blurring the image before her of him -- his hair plastered curly flat and rumpled, his bluest eyes affectionate and anxious, all of him so beloved to her.  
  
"You love me?" she asked, savoring the sound of her own voice repeating the words. "Really?"  
  
Spike snorted. "Well, yeah, that's alright, isn't it?"  
  
She smiled back. "That'll do," she giggled.  
  
He pulled her into his arms and hugged her. "Probably should have said that before I shagged you through half the Kama Sutra. Truth is, I loved you when I first saw your face. You were the only part of being here that made any sense; the only one I had to hold on to. The only one I want to hold on to."  
  
She kissed his forehead. "I love you, too. Promise me you'll never run out on me again."  
  
"Don't shut me out again," he grumbled.  
  
"Deal," she whispered and pulled him back under the covers.  
  
"Piss off," he mumbled into the phone when it jangled the next morning. He then bolted upright. "Where the hell are you? Yes, come up, but give us about thirty minutes. I don't know; charge a breakfast to our room. Not like we were expecting you." He hung up the phone. "Bloody hell."  
  
"Who's that?" Fred asked with a yawn.  
  
"One Willow Rosenberg, Wicca-about-town at our service. Angel called her in for consultation," Spike held out his hand. "We've got half an hour. Fancy sharing a shower?"  
  
"We have two bathrooms so there's really -- oh, wait. I get it. Yes," she giggled taking his hand.  
  
"God, is this where all of you stay?" Willow asked in awe when she arrived at the suite. "Are you hiring?"  
  
"Oh, no, this isn't like the Hyperion," Fred explained. "This is just temporary. My apartment's trashed from, whatever happened. The city called it an earthquake. Only I'm the one who quaked the earth in the first place. How do you apologize to people for that?"  
  
"Fred, it's the science, you know that: for every action there's an equal and opposite reaction. Creating Spike's body took in a lot of energy; there was a lot to release," Willow said.  
  
Fred smiled crookedly. "It's a lot nicer when you say it. The lab won't even let me fix the coffeemaker."  
  
"Yeah, they think she's all bad-ass. Squires the Evil Dead and rocks the world to boot," Spike announced, coming out of the bathroom to wrap his arms around Fred.  
  
Fred registered Willow's look of surprise. "Spike, wow, hi. So. You. It's all – you. You're doing the human thing. I have to say I'm curious. How's it working out?"  
  
He thought for a moment. "Get pissed a hell of a lot quicker. I itch all over, feel like I'm burning up with fever, and can't taste for shit." He lit up a cigarette and took a deep inhale, only to erupt in a fit of coughing. "Lungs work though," he croaked.  
  
Fred gently shoved him towards the open door of the balcony, waving the smoke away.  
  
Willow rolled her eyes. "It might be time to quit."  
  
"There ain't a nicotine patch big enough, love." He stepped outside.  
  
"Did Angel give you what they salvaged from my apartment?" Fred asked, sitting down at the suite's table.  
  
"Yeah, which isn't much. Nothing left from the readings on Spike during the transformation. But they found the setting from the amulet mostly intact. I wanted to research it for a couple of days and really make sure I understood it." Willow sat beside her.  
  
"And?" Fred prompted impatiently.  
  
Willow took a breath. "It's a biggie. From what I can make out, this had nothing to do with the Shanshu prophecy."  
  
"What?" Fred asked.  
  
Spike poked his head in. "How?"  
  
"Under the stone, there's an inscription about a release from a spell, your average, garden-variety soul-binding spell." Willow saw their looks of disbelief. "Or your average malevolent force ripping through the cosmos garden-variety soul-binding spell. I'll go either way," she added.  
  
"Fred, you were right – the dust that covered you was amber, from the original jewel. See, based on what's left of the markings on the setting here, this is from maybe the Middle Ages. The text is pretty easy to make out," Willow explained as she pulled out the remains of the amulet and a high-powered jeweler's eye loupe.  
  
"What, Made in bloody Taiwan?" Spike asked, throwing his cigarette over the side of the balcony.  
  
"'Tiger's Soul,'" Willow translated. "It's another name for amber. The rest of the markings tell the story of a celebrated knight who craved the king's power and wealth, and was offered immortality by going to the dark side, a trick set up by the king to test the knight's loyalty. The knight got all the strength and immortality he asked for, but without his human side, the ability to feel, to love, to be loved. The king doomed him to fight battles for eternity as a punishment for the knight's betrayal. The amulet held all of the knight's humanity, his soul."  
  
Willow paused to let the legend sink in. "It also held the power for him to finally die. At the Apocalypse, the amulet would protect his soul. It would give him the power to withstand the forces of darkness and save the souls of the righteous before the rapture consumed them. He would finally earn an honorable death."  
  
Spike learned over her shoulder and squinted at the tiny writing illegibly scratched onto the metal.  
  
"You can get all that plot from that little chicken scratch there?"  
  
Willow shrugged apologetically. "You kinda have to read between the lines."  
  
"When I closed up Sunny-Hell, I didn't die and I didn't live. What happened to me then?"  
  
"That's where I need your help," Willow replied. "Did anything happen then, when you -- "  
  
"Burned in fiery torment and sealed the hell mouth?" he completed. "Not much. My plate was rather full."  
  
Fred got up and squeezed his shoulders. "This is important. Think." He turned from her and paced the room pensively.  
  
"She, grabbed onto to my hand, knitted her fingers through mine. And then, there was this burst of flame but it surrounded us, didn't consume us," he said hesitantly.  
  
"Buffy did this? She held on to you?" Willow clarified.  
  
Spike glanced at Fred. "Until I told her to leave before she became slayer flambé."  
  
Willow pointed to Fred. "When he took the amulet off your neck, you wrote in your lab notes that the stone transformed into a gaseous state, with all Spike's physical signs suggesting a human man burning to death, and you--"  
  
"She threw herself at me," Spike blurted happily. "Sorry. But you did." Fred blushed.  
  
Willow looked at all the information on the table. "Spike, Buffy grabbing your hand before you were supposed to die must have hit the big rewind button on the spell. All that energy came out so that you could do the saving of the souls and it burned up your vampire body, but the amulet stayed intact because it held your soul inside. The touch of Buffy, her human essence, combined with the amulet, reanimated you as a type of spirit."  
  
"Both times, I was being pulled apart inside. That bloody thing wasn't trying to save me; it was trying to destroy me," he argued.  
  
Fred put aside her thoughts about Buffy and returned to scientific mode. "I think I get this. The return of your soul would have been too much for your spirit self. You would have gone up in smoke like, like a cornhusk, a dried carcass, an empty rotting shell."  
  
"Please, easy on the sweet talk, I'll blush," he said sarcastically.  
  
"I think she's right," Willow nodded. "Fred picked up the rest of the spell and provided the rest of the human essence to fuse with your soul. Her body blocked the destroying properties and gave your soul something to hold on to. This time you didn't have a human holding on to you for only a minute. Fred here kept her hands and arms inside the car until all parts had come to a full and complete stop." She smiled faintly. "Ha, ha, little roller coaster humor there."  
  
"I didn't enjoy the ride," Fred answered. She smiled at Spike. "But I did like the prize I got afterwards." He took her hand and glanced at Willow.  
  
"So, I'm not the prophecy, he's not the prophecy, that thing would have destroyed me without Winifred, which means--"  
  
"Shanshu, Shampoo. This is a whole different mystical sphere," Willow finished.  
  
"But they said that that one, the amulet that Spike had, that it was The One," Fred frowned.  
  
"Who said?" Willow asked.  
  
Spike gave a sardonic laugh. "Oh, merely the spokesmodels for the evil of the world. Wolfram & Hart would never lie!"  
  
"So they set Angel up. They were trying to get rid of him. Permanently," Fred said softly, gripping Spike's hand tighter.  
  
"But, but they didn't! Guys? Can we bask in the glow of the happy face for a minute?"  
  
Spike nodded quickly. "Red's right. They've bollixed the job offing several of us, must mean they're losing their touch. Gives us a chance to come out swinging."  
  
"But that means the amulet for the Shanshu is still out there," Willow noted.  
  
Spike stuck his chin out stubbornly. "Can't think of anyone else better suited to find it than our crowd, can you?"  
  
Fred spoke up. "Can you stay, Willow? Long enough to tell Angel?"  
  
"Sure. I need some help from you. Maybe we can do some old storming of the brains," Willow hesitated. "But do you think they have more rooms here? I don't know if I can go back to that Holiday Inn after seeing this place."  
  
Fred released Spike's hand and walked Willow to the suite's door. "Go check in and be sure to charge it to the helpful associates of Wolfram & Hart. You've got the head of the science department here to sign off on it for you." She closed the door and leaned against it, her mind reeling from the influx of information. She felt Spike's eyes on her and walked out to the balcony, eager to feel some space around her. She watched the city move below her, nearly silent from the safety of their perch. Spike came up behind her and leaned his chin on her shoulder.  
  
"I used to love watching the city like this, you know, from a distance, where it can't hurt anybody. But that's not the real city up here, is it?" she reflected.  
  
She turned to face him and took his hands, rubbing his palms with her thumbs. "I can't believe I'm thinking about this. So many other more important things than what I'm stuck on. I always knew that Buffy would be a part of you. I think I avoided you because of that, not because you weren't corporeal. And she saved you. Willow gave me the proof."  
  
He tipped up her chin. "She got me part of the way here. Isn't that what a past is meant to do? You picked up the rest. This body I'm in came from you. We're part of each other, Red told you that, too. Is that enough proof for you? Because all the proof I need is that I know I love you."  
  
It was all the invitation she needed to wrap her arms around him. The force of her affection took him momentarily off balance. He returned her hug.  
  
"You see, I found out how that ended. I'm much more interested in how this begins," he said softly.  
  
"Like this," she whispered and looked up to be kissed.  
  
***  
  
"Well," Angel said, his expression impenetrable – more so than usual, Fred thought. She watched him lean his palms against the necro-glass of his office and stare blindly out into the city. Although she could not begin to grasp what the news might mean to him, she hoped she'd given him something, something in return for what he'd done for her in getting Spike back.  
  
He pulled out of his daze and turned back to the three of them. "So much for a group meeting," Angel muttered. He hit the speakerphone to Harmony. "Any word on Lorne?"  
  
"He called in sick again, Boss," she trilled. "Thinks he's got the flu."  
  
Angel sighed. "Lorne's down, what about Wesley? Any word from him in the past day?"  
  
"Just that email about going to England," Harmony answered. "You want me to call him again?"  
  
"No thanks." Angel turned back to Willow, Fred and Spike. "Sorry, Will. Thought you'd have a better audience for this news."  
  
Willow gave him a tentative smile. "Hey, you know me. Not making big with the speech circuit thing."  
  
"Angel, are you okay?" Fred asked.  
  
He nodded slowly, rubbing his forehead and looking very tired. "Yeah. I love the thought that there's another apocalypse out there and that the real amulet's MIA. What's next?"  
  
"Willow's mystery slayer at large," Spike replied, keeping his eyes downcast.  
  
Willow took her cue and opened a manila folder in front of her. "Oh, right. Here goes. The watcher's council wanted Giles to look into a potential slayer accused of killing her parents and put into a prison for the criminally insane. Well, the council blew up before he got any more information, other than her psychiatric profile name, Lucy Morrow. Patient Lucy Morrow killed a nurse with a hypodermic, strangled a guard with her nightgown, slit her own wrists, and made multiple escape attempts. Then after our slayer-awakening spell, she kicked her doctor across the room and," Willow winced. "Kicked her way through his skull."  
  
"Um, I think that's worse than my headaches," Fred grimaced. "She succeeded in escaping after that, I take it."  
  
"A Lucy Morrow checked into some fleabag motel here in LA on the date after the doctor's murder, and then she disappears," Willow said.  
  
"So where does Amsterdam fit in?" Fred asked.  
  
"You think your earthquake was bad? Here's the flip side of my spell: there are all these girls out there, all ages, all backgrounds with slayer powers. Germany's got a huge demon hunting market. There are sort of demon bounty hunters who are trying to get a hold of them, use them," Willow explained.  
  
"Make slaves out of them!" Fred exclaimed angrily.  
  
"Indiana Jones as a sick evil sugar daddy," Spike noted grimly.  
  
"Brave new world, huh," Angel replied. "So you think this girl somehow got lured to Europe to get sold into demon hunting?"  
  
"A young girl, coming off major league anti-depressants, imprisoned for years, running away from psycho-prison? You bet I do. Besides, I got a big tip from a friend of Giles' in international airline security: a woman got stopped at the gate for a flight from Amsterdam to Los Angeles for carrying wooden stakes. Worse still, no one's seen the guard who frisked her since," Willow said.  
  
Angel shook his head. "Too many unanswered questions. Where's she getting money? ID? Clothes? She's killing for all of this stuff? Willow, you're jumping into an abyss of unknowns here. You need some back up. Let me call Gunn."  
  
"Don't put it to him as an order there, Captain," Spike advised. "He hates you these days."  
  
Angel glanced at Fred and Spike. "Don't you think hate's a little strong?" He sighed again. "Okay, but he's also dying to get his hands dirty again." He turned to Willow. "We're not keeping you from anything if you leave tomorrow?"  
  
She smiled. "Nope. Gives me one more day to enjoy my big bubbly tub at the Wilshire."  
  
"Fred, you see how the lab's doing. Spike, we'll work on getting clues to the real Shanshu amulet. As soon as I hear from Gunn, he and Willow can check out this missing slayer. I could really use an extra pair of hands here. But you're the only ones left," Angel finished. Fred noticed that he didn't say anything about being the only ones he could trust.  
  
***  
  
"Nice save," Spike said finally, breaking their silence of study.  
  
Frustrated, Angel pushed one of the translation volumes across the table. It slipped over the edge and fell to the floor with a bang. He strode over to the window. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"Oh, come off it," Spike chided, pushing his chair back. "You love that you've got another shot at it. Or maybe you just want to turn flips over the fact that it's not me who's your prophecy."  
  
Angel slammed his hand against the glass. "I want it to be over, dammit. Now it's not, not by a long shot."  
  
"Join the fucking club -- I'm not only its president, I'm its charter member," Spike answered bitterly.  
  
Angel looked at him with contempt. "You got something out of it. You're human. Your journey's over. Mine hasn't even begun."  
  
"Over?" Spike repeated incredulously. "You're telling me we've got another big bang to look forward to and you're fixing to snuff out the fires this time. Go bloody on then. You'll do it alone."  
  
Angel gave a rueful snort. "Great. You'll fiddle while I burn."  
  
"Seems I've gone from hero to Nero in a blink of your eye," Spike retorted. "Don't you get it? I couldn't hold the torch if I wanted to. If you're right, if there is another fight ahead of us, if we're all in it, I won't even be able to save..." His voice trailed off and he looked away, troubled. "I won't be able to do a fucking thing," he said softly.  
  
Angel remembered the last day he'd been human. It was an accident, like Spike's; only his was the result of mixing his blood with that of a Mohra demon. Angel gave in to the pull of the memory, to recall what it meant to share humanity with Buffy – the joy of it, but also the fear that he couldn't protect her or even fight alongside of her. A fear so strong he'd thought nothing of giving it up when called– allowing her memory of it to be erased in exchange for saving her. He saw that Spike shared these same concerns over Fred.  
  
"You'd give it up?" Angel asked him quietly. "Go back to being a vampire?"  
  
Spike walked towards the door. "I don't spend much time pondering on the what-ifs and might-have-beens," he answered. "You might consider doing the same."  
  
"Thanks," Angel replied sourly, letting the subject drop. So much for bonding with Spike. "Now where are you going?"  
  
"I'm due for a coffee break," Spike announced. "Humanity perk."  
  
"So that's four cigarette breaks, three bathroom breaks, and a coffee break in what, an hour and a half? How did you get any work done with Fred?"  
  
"Listen, boss-man. Way I see it, you're getting off easy. I'm not even a dent on your payroll, who are you to say what hours I'm to put in?" Spike grinned, Angel thought lewdly. "Besides. Never all work with Winifred."  
  
Angel cringed. "I don't need the details."  
  
"Good. I'm not giving them," Spike said indignantly. "But I am in her life, we are together, and you'd better bloody get used to it."  
  
Angel thought about all he really wanted to say to Spike. Then he thought about Fred, about her symptoms of his latest group memory loss, the deletion of all their memories of his son in exchange for Connor's safety. Her headaches and her isolation from the group, which led to her willingness to help Spike, all seemed a less equitable exchange than he'd first imagined.  
  
"How is she doing these days anyway?" Angel asked quietly.  
  
"I thought you didn't want details," Spike said.  
  
"Her headaches, Spike. What's going on there?"  
  
"She still gets them if that's what you mean. Why?"  
  
Angel counted his friends' symptoms on his fingers. "Fred's got headaches, Wesley's not sleeping and Gunn, well, he's more than happy to get away from me. Spike, if I tell you something, do you promise not to say anything to Fred?"  
  
"No. I don't," Spike answered immediately.  
  
Angel looked at him in surprise. "Aren't you at least going to think about it before you decide?"  
  
"All right then." He skipped a beat. "No."  
  
"You've got her, Spike, OK? No contest. All I'm asking for is one confidence kept. I don't have anyone I can talk to about this."  
  
"Got nothing to do with you. I'm just not your man, not if it means hiding something from my girl."  
  
"Oh spare me," Angel groaned, rolling his eyes.  
  
"No, I won't spare you. Down that hall is possibly the finest human being I've yet to meet on this earth, and at over a century, that's saying a bloody lot. You don't have to tell me I don't deserve her, I know I don't. But I'm not about to let anything fuck my chances with her, not you—not myself for that matter. Sure as hell not another apocalypse," he added. "I won't take sides against Fred. But I'll do whatever else I can. Which I'm warning you, because of the way I am now, won't be much." He glanced at Angel uneasily.  
  
Angel considered Spike's offer. "Well, that's something I guess. Although I wish you'd had the crisis of conscience on secret keeping towards the end of the week. But I get it."  
  
"If you've something to say to her, you'd best find a way to say it. I'm no one's go between. I'm off," Spike finished, walking out the door.  
  
"Could you get me a cappuccino?" Angel hollered. But Spike slammed the door on his question.  
  
***  
  
"Just remember," Fred told Knox at the centrifuge. "One of the best chances we've got for future evidence of string theory exists in the idea of superpartners in particle experiments." She smiled at that word "superpartners" and felt the back of her scalp prickle. Despite Spike's recent corporeality, she could still sense when he was nearby. As if on cue, Spike breezed through the lab entrance and straight to her side.  
  
He clapped his hand firmly on Knox's shoulder. "Girl looks a bit crowded there," he smirked.  
  
Knox moved away quickly. "Oh, sure, hi Mr. Spike." He darted into the next room.  
  
Fred poked Spike's stomach with the end of her pen. "That wasn't nice."  
  
"No, but it was fun. I do enjoy watching that boy squirm. But not as much as I enjoy watching you, my beauty." He gazed lovingly in her eyes. "Let me treat you to a coffee, pet?" he asked, leaning into her.  
  
Her cheeks flushed hotly. "Oh, yes please!" She made a few more notes on her clipboard and flashed him a smile. He took her hand and led her out of the lab.  
  
She glanced at him from behind her dark bangs and found him already staring at her, amused, aroused, mischievous. The possessive grip of his hand on hers made all the lonely days of walking alone in hallways worth this thrill. She delighted in the surprised glances they provoked from her more conservative co-workers and the proud swagger of his walk as he escorted her.  
  
She paused in front of the lab's supply closet and unlocked it. "Let me grab some things first."  
  
"Of course."  
  
They entered the closet and fell into each other.  
  
"How's your day?" he asked breathlessly, pulling off her lab coat and kissing her neck.  
  
"Oh, a little slow. How's yours?" she panted, running her hands down his back.  
  
"It's looking up, thanks for asking," he murmured, picking her up and wrapping her around him. He held her like that, slowly pressing and rubbing her warm body enticingly against his. She savored the swell of desire they created between them and nipped his ear.  
  
"Think that'll keep you until lunch?" she whispered.  
  
"It'll have to, won't it?" he said, kissing her once more and backing up from her. "I've half a mind to take you right here, but then I do love you like this, wanting me, waiting for me..." he teased. She leaned her head back against the wall and smiled at him, holding out her hand.  
  
He hooked her fingers with his own. "Something I need to tell you, love. Angel thinks he might have a cure for your headaches."  
  
Fred looked up at him. 'What does he think it is?"  
  
Spike squeezed her hand. "Ah, you know Angel. He's not going to go into any detail with me. But it's in the works. I wanted to tell you up front."  
  
She leaned over and touched his cheek. "I love that. Come on."  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
"To talk to Angel."  
  
"Win!" he protested.  
  
"No, this is ridiculous. I'm getting this settled once and for all."  
  
"Are you sure that's what you really want to do?" he purred.  
  
Before she could move, he grinned wickedly and dropped his head to her hand. With infinite slowness, he flicked the tip of his hot tongue in wet circles across her open palm and around her thumb. Each warm, sensuous lick pulled her closer towards him and further from the demands of the day.  
  
"You're stalling me," she mumbled, closing her eyes and surrendering to the warm insistence of his mouth.  
  
*** "Come on baby," a girl's voice crooned, smoothing the stiff bangs away from Wesley's sweaty forehead.  
  
Wesley opened one badly swollen eye. Restraints around his wrists, elbows, knees and ankles bound him to an otherwise comfortable easy chair. His left arm itched and he saw the lines of intravenous feeding tubes snaking out of him and into the clear liquid filled bags suspended from their metal supports. He'd slept finally, he knew that much, the heavy narcotic still filling him with lassitude. Other events in the past few days registered only foggily in his brain. Lilah came for him and caused an earthquake. Somehow Lilah looked younger and deader all at once. He'd awoken a few times with this strange girl in this strange place and she'd flown into random rages followed by sweet regret. Then Lilah would return with the hypodermic syringe and blissful sleep would claim him again.  
  
Wesley saw the girl lounging on the plush sofa. She glanced over at him and smiled. He motioned at the I.V. "You did this?"  
  
Leah smiled proudly. "Sure did. Couple a weeks ago, I couldn't even follow that E.R. show. Check my shit out. I can keep you living for a long time if I want to." She turned the remote to the giant television. "Now shut up. It's almost time for Jeopardy and I got my championship to defend. Already up to 50 grand this week."  
  
Wesley remembered a fragment of a previous conversation, something about this wild girl and all her knowledge, where it came from. "It's not real, all that information you've got in your head. You didn't work for it. It's merely planted in there," he mumbled.  
  
Leah rummaged into a box of Captain Crunch and stuffed a handful of cereal in her mouth. "It's real enough for me. You know what I knew before this? I knew that a ton of people were gonna die, even my parents. Nobody gave a shit until mommy and daddy bit the bullet for real. Then it got to be my fault."  
  
"Visions," Wes said.  
  
"Fuck yeah, visions. You know what they do with you when you tell 'em vampires killed your parents? They fucking lock you up in the crazy house and throw away the key. Our sweet Lilah was the only one who believed me and fucking a lot of good she did," Leah paused and walked over to Wesley, straddling him on the chair. "And you fucking killed her."  
  
Wesley dropped his head and steadied himself for the blow to come, for no matter how he tried to explain himself to this girl, their conversations always came to this. Always back to Lilah and the things he did with her, did to her. At this point, the girl would either beat him or drug him. Tonight, however, she licked his bruised mouth.  
  
"I see you ain't gonna let me watch my show," she sighed. "So I got a show for you." She jumped off him and turned to the huge media cabinet next to the television, clapping her hands with glee.  
  
"I fucking love this shit. I never even knew how to program a VCR. What did I need with that, ya know? Now let me see. Oh, yeah, here we go. I caught this today when you were having your afternoon nap." She flipped a few switches and the film of a security camera flashed on the screen.  
  
He realized that the feed came directly from Wolfram & Hart. First he saw Angel and Spike in Angel's office, surrounded by books. He next saw Spike in the lab, squeezing Fred's hip and escorting her down the hall. Fred opened the door to the supply closet and fell into Spike's arms, allowing him to undress her under the watchful eye of the hidden camera. Sickened, Wes looked away.  
  
Leah looked over at him and laughed. "These two been going at it all over that office. Bunnies got nothin' on 'em. Awww," she droned in mock sympathy, sauntering over to him. "See what happens when you fuck with the Morgan sisters?"  
  
He looked up at her. "Sisters? You're, you're Lilah's sister." Suddenly, the face, the rage, even the muffled recollections of what she did to him after she drugged him, all fit into place.  
  
"Well, duh," Leah answered. "I'm Leah. Almost like Lilah. You don't gotta learn a new name for me, baby."  
  
"And," he thought of her strength, the story about the vampires, the visions. "You're a slayer. That's why she didn't keep in touch with you; she knew that if she brought you here that they'd use you. Leah, she didn't leave you, she was trying to protect you. I used to be a watcher," Wes tried to explain, but she belted him across the mouth and he tasted hot blood run down his throat.  
  
"Shut up!" she hollered. "It doesn't fucking matter because I'm gonna make that bitch burn. You killed her and I get to damn her. Once I finish these jobs, I get to see her one last time and make sure she fries."  
  
He shook his head and struggled to think against the pain and the grogginess. "Leah, it doesn't work that way. She's already damned. She signed a contract. Don't you see? Wolfram & Hart are using you. I'll help you, just let me go."  
  
She picked up the syringe on the coffee table and inserted it into his I.V. "But sweetie," she protested patiently. "You are Wolfram & Hart. What a fucking buzzkill. Here I thought for once you were gonna be a little more fun," she muttered.  
  
He felt the wave of the drug course through his veins. Must be a morphine derivative, he thought weakly, I'm starting to crave it. "They'll come for me," he struggled to tell her as the darkness overtook him. "My friends, they'll find me."  
  
"Come tomorrow, I'll be the only friend you got left, baby," she whispered in Lilah's voice and shoved her tongue into his slack mouth.  
  
*** "Come on, love. You know Angel's not a top batter with pitches coming out of left field," Spike said, following Fred down the hall to Angel's office the next day. "He won't be expecting this."  
  
"Well, good! Maybe I'll get the truth then. I would've done this yesterday, if it weren't for your smoochy powers of persuasion. Made my head all woozy and forgot what I was doing," she said, trying to sound grumpier than she actually felt.  
  
Spike moved in front of her, pressing his chest against her breasts. "Home run, love. Crowd went wild as I recall." She maneuvered around him and headed for the door.  
  
Harmony stopped them. "Sorry, private meeting," she sang. She took a breath and looked ready to burst with news. "But you won't guess in a million years who it is."  
  
"Rather negates the whole concept of a 'private' meeting, don't you think, Harm?" asked Spike.  
  
Harmony ignored him. "It's Lilah Morgan's sister!"  
  
Fred's mouth dropped open in shock. "Sister? Wait, you know about Lilah?"  
  
Harmony rolled her eyes. "Like, duh, it's all anybody could talk about until he came along." She glared at Spike. "Anyway, the girl showed up this morning looking for Lilah, like she's going to pop out any minute with her head still on."  
  
"Ouch," Fred said.  
  
"Eve's in there too, so you'll have to take a seat," Harmony said, returning to her desk.  
  
Angel and Eve came out of his office arguing.  
  
"The girl's an innocent, I'm telling you. She looks like a choir girl, for God's sake," Angel began.  
  
"It's a bad idea, especially with the demon not here to read her," Eve said.  
  
"This girl didn't even know her sister was dead twenty minutes ago. She's in a strange city, no money, no job, and no family. I'll find some work for her to do. She can help around the office."  
  
"Boss!" Harmony pouted. She turned on her heel and stalked away.  
  
"So give her a few dollars and send her on her way," Eve advised, squinting up at him. "You're thinking with your heart again. Sure this isn't a little misplaced guilt for the ones who got away?"  
  
"What would you know about heart, Eve?" Angel retorted. "The girl stays for as long as she needs to. You got a problem with that you could take an early lunch. Or an all-day lunch. Your call."  
  
He picked up his coffee mug waiting on Harmony's desk and slugged deeply from its contents. Suddenly, he clutched his throat and sent the cup tumbling to the floor.  
  
"What's wrong?" Fred asked, running to his side.  
  
"Dead. Blood. Dead," Angel gurgled in response, the little color left in his face fading to pasty white. He tumbled to the floor. Fred struggled to prop him up.  
  
Spike picked up the cup and sniffed it. "Balls, I can't tell. If it is dead blood, he needs to feed and fast. Do something!" Spike yelled to Eve, who watched them curiously.  
  
Eve shrugged, suspiciously nonchalant about pulling out her cell phone. "I'll get a medical team on its way," she said briskly. "But there's nothing more I can do. Harmony brought that cup straight from this morning's first delivery. If the whole company's blood supply is poisoned, we've got more trouble on our hands than our champion there." She walked swiftly away from the office with the cell phone glued to her ear.  
  
"Bloody fucking lot of help she is," Spike muttered. "He's bad, isn't he?"  
  
Fred snapped her head up in realization. "The lab. I have fresh blood in the lab, for experiments, it isn't the same supply."  
  
Spike took Angel's body from her hands. "Go. But be safe about it."  
  
Fred ran from Angel's office and saw the entire building erupt into chaos before her. Medical personnel ran through the halls with transfusion equipment. A steady stream of business-suited associates darted around her and hurried towards the emergency exits. She tried to ignore the insistent buzzing of the pager in her lab coat pocket.  
  
"The whole department wants out of here," Knox told her when she reached the lab. "Vampires are dropping like flies all over the building and some of them are feeding to save themselves. It's only a matter of time until they find our stash."  
  
"Then it is the whole blood supply," Fred whispered helplessly. She needed to save Angel, she needed to help her department, and she needed to find the cause of this horrible attack.  
  
"Oh, boy," she muttered. "This to-do list is officially over my head." She took a deep breath. "Go. Anyone who wants to leave can go. Locking down the whole building would be a death sentence at this point. Be careful." She went to the cooler and pulled out all the bags of blood, placed them in an insulated bag and shut it in a leaded supply chest. She headed for the door and ran into Eve.  
  
"Looks like you're in charge. What do you want to do?" Eve asked, holding a walkie-talkie. "Lockdown?"  
  
Thoughts raced through Fred's mind, all competing for what to do first. "No, only the science lab and the medical floor," she answered. She finally reached for her pager as it went off again and saw that ten messages waited for her.  
  
Eve raised her eyebrows. "Really? You'll risk letting the cause of this whole mess waltz out the door?"  
  
Fred threw the pager on her desk. "I don't know what else to do!" she blurted. "Spike's with Angel. I have to call Charles, get him back here."  
  
Eve's expression turned solemn. "I take it you didn't check all your messages yet?"  
  
Fred's mouth turned dry. "What?"  
  
"There's been an accident, Charles and Willow. This morning, two of their tires spun off while they were on the highway. They're alive, don't worry, but Willow's got a concussion, Charles has a broken leg, and the Benz is totaled. I'd make arrangements to send them here to the medical floor but we're a little full at the moment."  
  
Fred sunk into a desk chair. "No, no, they're safer in the hospital. My God, what's happening here?"  
  
Eve placed the walkie-talkie on Fred's desk. "This will put you in touch with whoever's left on the company's security team." Next to it she laid a silver pistol. "This will put you in touch with your own personal security team."  
  
"What are you doing?" Fred asked, taking in the picture of the radio and the gun. They each represented some unknown horrible choice, neither of which she wanted to make.  
  
"I'm getting out of here, sweetie. Sorry. I know you bunk with an ex- vampire but I don't find biting all that kinky," Eve said dryly.  
  
Fred stared at the pistol, its metallic surface capturing her distorted reflection. "A gun won't kill vampires."  
  
Eve shrugged. "Who said you needed to kill any vampires? Like I said, you're in charge. Don't think your SuperSpike's going to be all that helpful – now that he's human, his superpowers got a pocket full of kryptonite."  
  
Fred glared at her. "And why should I trust you?" she spat.  
  
Eve smiled and stalked out the door, pausing at the doorway. "Who else do you have?"  
  
Fred felt her cell phone vibrate in her other pocket and she wanted nothing more but to smash it against the wall, scream, and run away. She clenched the edge of the desk to steady herself. She didn't even glance at the number before answering it.  
  
"...She didn't give me enough, Fred, I need it."  
  
"Wesley? Where are you?" Fred asked in surprise.  
  
"She knew how to administer it, but she didn't know to increase the dosage. Never underestimate the power of an addiction," Wesley continued drunkenly.  
  
"Wesley, you're not making any sense. I thought you went to England, what's going on?" She pulled the phone away and looked at the unfamiliar number on the phone's display. She jotted it down on her memo pad with a red Sharpie marker, and his name beside it with a huge question mark.  
  
"Is she there? Lilah's sister?" he gasped.  
  
Fred's hand stopped its nervous doodling. The memo paper bled with red ink. She suddenly remembered the mysterious visitor in Angel's office, who entered when all of this craziness began. "Yes."  
  
"Find her. I need, one more shot, then, then I can help you---" She heard the receiver of the phone bang to the floor.  
  
"Wesley!" she screamed. She put her hand over her mouth. She'd left Spike back at Angel's office, both of them alone with that girl.  
  
With shaking hands, she ripped the memo paper off its pad and wrapped her cell phone around it, placing both in her pocket. The security announcements blasting from the walkie-talkie slowly died away and the emptiness of the building yawned over her. She picked up both the radio and the gun and locked the lab doors behind her.  
  
He strained to bring himself back to consciousness, recognizing his prone body on what felt like a stiff hospital mattress. He first heard the desperate static messages through what sounded like a radio: Centcom breach, repeat centcom breach. Hostile attack, repeat, hostile attack, abort defense... He squinted weakly through blurred vision and saw a bloodied two-way radio on the rough blanket that covered him. The radio's former owner, a dead body in a security uniform, lay in the corner of the room with several arrows protruding from the chest. He realized that he lay in Cordelia's room of the WRH medical ward, his bed beside the still- unconscious woman. He tried to move his arm and found his muscles non- responsive, temporarily atrophied from the tainted blood he'd consumed. His eyes flew open in alarm when he registered Spike standing over him. I'll kill him for this stunt, Angel seethed. He won't get a second chance to kill me.  
  
"She'll kill me if I stain this," Spike muttered, rolling down the sleeve of his blue shirt and buttoning the cuff back around his wrist. He noticed Angel's responsiveness and frowned. "Don't look at me like that. Spike's Buffet of Blood's officially closed for business."  
  
Angel swallowed and recognized the aftertaste of human blood on his tongue. "You?" he managed to gasp in surprise.  
  
Spike shrugged. "Until our go-to girl gets back from the lab with a fresh batch, that's all you'll get from me. Wish she'd pick up already." Spike shook the radio, flicked knobs and spun a few of its dials. One channel elicited a man's gurgling scream. "Misery after bloody misery on every station. Pity there's no soothing polka for you," he added wryly, setting it back on the bed.  
  
Angel nodded towards the dead guard. "Who?"  
  
"That was your security detail. Looks like I'm it now."  
  
"Phones?"  
  
"Dead like every other bloody thing."  
  
"The girl?"  
  
"Yeah, except for her. She's disappeared, although I wouldn't be surprised if she's what they're calling the hostile attack. Not your best judgment of character on that one," Spike said.  
  
Angel groaned and closed his eyes, willing his strength to return. "Got –to—get –up."  
  
He felt Spike steady his bicep that vibrated with the effort of trying to move. "You can't. She poisoned you and every other vamp. Enough to put you down for the count and let her wreak bloody chaos."  
  
Angel sunk back into the mattress. "Why?" he asked hoarsely.  
  
"She's a hired hand, I suspect. Nothing like a little outsourcing to test out the champion, see if the weeble will wobble but won't fall down," Spike started. Angel managed to shake his head.  
  
"No, you. Saved me."  
  
"Oh, that," Spike replied. He picked up the radio and flipped another dial. "Keep it to yourself."  
  
Fred tore through the empty hallways with the secured cooler of blood, cringing at every corner before racing past, silently praying that nothing would divert her from her mission. She heard the radio hiss and crackle in her hand as she made her way to Angel's office, unsure what she would find, and if she'd have anyone left to save. She paused to flip another switch on the radio and heard Spike's voice clear as day.  
  
"What are you doing in here?" she heard him ask.  
  
"You're not going to save him sweetie," Fred heard a girl's voice tell him. "You're going to kill him and then the girlfriend. I'm gonna watch and so's your science girl. Be sure you smile pretty for that camera over my shoulder. She'll need proof why you need to die. Maybe she'll even do it for me." Fred's heart pounded in alarm when she realized that the girl had trapped them all in Cordy's room on the hospital floor.  
  
"You don't know me, ducks," Fred heard Spike answer. "I don't take orders very well."  
  
The click of the release and whirring fire of what sounded like a crossbow blared across the connection. Fred wavered in one of the hallways in shock at hearing the sound.  
  
"Slayer wanna-be are you? Killed two slayers in my day, love. And you know what they say. Third time's a charm." Tears of relief sprung to Fred's eyes when she heard Spike's response. She heard a scuffle and the clatter of the radio as it hit the floor.  
  
"Spike, oh no, what are you doing?" Fred whispered. "You can't take her, you're not strong enough any more." But if Lilah's sister could find a way to the medical floor, so could Fred. She raced up the back stairwell.  
  
The door to the ward stood wide open, despite Fred's call for a lockdown. She realized that the body of a dead guard kept it propped ajar. Trying not to look at the body, Fred placed the radio on the floor of the hallway and crept cautiously through, her hand never leaving the cool steel of the pistol in her pocket. She left the container of blood next to the door of Cordelia's room.  
  
She peeked through the small glass window of the door, seeing Angel in a bed next to Cordy. He caught sight of Fred and his eyes flashed at her warningly, staring pointedly down at the floor and back to her. Fred drew a deep breath and eased open the hospital room door. Spike lay sprawled on the floor, writhing and gasping for air, while Lilah's sister straddled his chest. She banged his bloodying head against the gray tile floor and squeezed his neck with both hands. Fred saw Spike's face beginning to turn blue, the girl's grip around his throat turning the skin purple with constriction.  
  
"Like being human, baby?" Lilah's sister asked through clenched teeth. "You got to breathe these days."  
  
"You don't," Fred muttered. "Ever again."  
  
Hearing the voice, the girl whipped around to look behind her and Fred advanced, steadying the gun in her hands. The girl lunged towards her and Fred applied steady pressure to the trigger of the gun, emptying the cartridge into the girl's chest, feeling each shot shake her with the release of the gauge. She watched the bullets leave her hand and disappear slowly between the folds of lace appliqués of the girl's conservative white blouse. The force of the shots threw the girl's body backwards.  
  
"Lilah," the girl whispered, her eyes glazing over with death as the arterial blood drenched through the lace.  
  
The pistol still clicked uselessly in Fred's hand. For Spike, for Angel, for Gunn, for Wesley, for Cordelia, for Jasmine, for Seidel, for Connor... Connor? Who, what was Connor? Then the headache pierced like bright sunlight through her eyes, tore pain through her head. She forced her eyes open to look at Spike, whose hand closed over her hand that fired the empty gun, whose lips were moving but made no sound. She slowly considered the gun in her hand and flung it across the room, watching it spin muzzle over trigger before splitting against the wall.  
  
She turned blindly back to the door and heard herself say, "We have to save Wesley now."  
  
Her words sounded deep and liquid, echoing in her ears behind the searing pain. She tried to concentrate on Spike's desperate expression, tried to make words out of the meaningless movement of his mouth. Dully, she felt his hands grasp her shoulders, felt him shake her. She watched him grip her arms and expected to see her own blood spurt from beneath his fingers from what she knew must be deep pressure. She reached for the door handle and the room tilted wildly on its side, while Spike's face zoomed away from her through a frame of darkness.  
  
"It's okay," she said calmly, feeling the cool tile of the floor connect with her cheek. "I'll be right back." 


	4. Part Four Choices

Part Four "Choices"  
  
The Ramones are wankers, Spike thought.  
  
Despite the bleak tableau--Winifred restrained to a hospital bed--his mind kept skipping away to pound out the catchy refrain of one of his favorite songs. It shamed him, such a cruel trick for his brain to play. Seeing her like this, the song didn't seem fun anymore, never mind why anyone would want to sing about it. For her own good, Angel had said, since she couldn't stop talking about how killing the girl hadn't bothered her, how firing the gun had released more than bullets it had released a part of her that had stayed coiled for too long. Clearly raving. But the look in her eyes when they administered the shot would haunt him until the day he died again. How lost she looked, how she studied his whole face as if it would be the last thing she'd ever see.  
  
The drugs reawakened a part of her long since dead, the little girl who hovered on the brink of two realties, not a participant of either one. He tried to be the person for her that he hadn't found in his descent into madness – his executed so fittingly in a basement. There would be none of that for his girl. He sought to ground her, to make it seem that her clutching at the imaginary collar around her throat, that her more offbeat than usual non-sequiturs, and her constantly terrified expression were natural, normal and healthy. If not that, he'd at least make some part of her know that she wasn't alone in this.  
  
He brought her home perhaps too soon, her senses still dulled by the drugs. Stepping into the newly renovated apartment, she paused; her nose twitched the air like a caged animal's. "The paint's still wet," she announced. She entered the room hesitantly, stopping at the wall where the amulet had released its magic. She knelt down and smoothed her hand over the fresh paint. She traced the swirls of Mellow Beige with a fingernail absently, carving the derivative symbol into the wall's surface. Spike knelt beside her and took her hand.  
  
"Here." He held out a dry erase marker and pointed it towards the wall- sized board across the room. "Got one for you right here and there's more where that came from. Formulate to your heart's content." His carefully constructed tone of levity masked his deep worry for her.  
  
She dutifully took the pen and slipped it into her bathrobe pocket. She gazed up at him, her brown eyes heavy with the drug hangover. Humming softly, Fred adjusted the lapel of his new gray wool jacket and smoothed the white t-shirt underneath.  
  
"That looks nice. You're so much fun to dress up, I think I'll do it everyday. Forget that yucky old lab. Can't keep a marble up here anyway," she rambled. She poked her forehead listlessly and gave a child's frown of confusion. "It's all numb."  
  
"Win, this is temporary. It's a side effect of the meds." Impulsively, he leaned in to hug her and she twitched violently away from him, banging her small body against the wall. He eased back slowly, careful not to make another sudden movement, and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.  
  
Fred tilted her head at him curiously. She took his hand and put it inside her shirt, cupping his fingers around her naked breast over her heart. "Don't be afraid to touch. Not broken on the outside." She reached out and flattened her hand against his chest. "See. Just like me, just a little broken on the inside. I pulled out a gun and broke all the fun and can't put me back together again. Wait. That doesn't rhyme. You can rhyme, though. Do the one I like."  
  
He drew a shaking breath and pulled her into his lap. From memory, he recited some of the words he'd used to quiet her once before, before the sedatives had slipped in and spirited her away: ...How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face...  
  
"I'm getting better," she said looking up at him, her eyes suddenly the picture of lucidity.  
  
"I know."  
  
***  
  
"I think we've all gotten a much-needed reminder about how important we all are to each other. I need all of you. If we're going to make this work, we don't have to agree on everything. But we've got to stick together. Thanks everybody. For everything," Angel finished.  
  
The requisite pep talk, that's all these offices would hear again, since Angel spoke to them individually and in secret. Must be working, Spike thought. From his perch on the sofa's armrest, he watched Eve hovering outside the conference room, curiously peering in at them through the large window.  
  
He didn't join the rest of them around the inner circle they formed at the table. He liked it here on the periphery. He no longer encroached here alone and held no bitterness about waiting out the fight, now that he had a sparring partner in his corner. Even if that partner wrote physics formulas on dry erase boards by day and shivered in his arms by night. He knew her torment better than she did. Her suffering stemmed from the assault of her soul, her conflicted brain trying to wipe out the nasty actions with regret, make her pay. Only there was a catch: without killing the girl, she wouldn't have Spike. This, she'd told him, saved her.  
  
When the meeting adjourned, the group wavered together, glancing in his direction with obvious discomfort. The weight of his significance hung almost palpably in the air. Even if they thought he'd done it all for her, it didn't matter. They stood here because of him. Who'd found Fred's cell phone with the phone number to the girl's apartment and fetched the wasted watcher? Strung up to the gills on a raging morphine jones, the need for the very drug that held Wesley passive had reared up and broke the restraints, releasing him long enough to make that desperate phone call to Fred. Spike appreciated that sort of poetic irony.  
  
Following Angel's suspicion on the poisoning angle the girl worked, Spike next took a feverish and delirious Lorne out of his apartment. No one knew what caused his near-death affliction, but it disappeared within days of his leaving. A team specializing in post-crime sweep downs went through the apartment after that, dusting for fingerprints and disposing of anything that had passed under Leah's hands. Gunn had suggested they use an old contact from the Angel Investigations days for the sweep and they all agreed. Not using a Wolfram & Hart connection just felt safer somehow.  
  
No one could prove Leah's connection to the Benz accident. But they'd moved beyond proof. After bailing Gunn and Willow out of Cedars-Sinai, Spike brought the Wicca back to the hotel to retrieve her belongings for her flight back to England.  
  
In the car, they rode in uneasy tension together, until finally Willow blurted, "I need to make a stop."  
  
Spike gave her a sidelong glance. "Shouldn't you have thought of that before we left the hotel?"  
  
"No, Spike, really," Willow replied. "If I give you directions, will you drive me there? I got a hunch the other day and I have to see if it plays out."  
  
He sighed heavily. "You brainy birds and your hunches will be the death of me. All right, then. The name of our intended destination?"  
  
"A Starbucks. I've got the address."  
  
He took his eyes off the road for a moment to glare at her. "You are truly joking, aren't you?"  
  
"Come on," she goaded him. "It's on the way to the airport. I'll buy you a latte`."  
  
He weighed the possible security issues of a franchised coffee house on Willow's concussion and deemed it, if not safe, then no more unsafe than anything else they'd faced. "You'll tell me where to turn."  
  
They entered the cookie-cutter building, like so many others of its kind, greeted by an attractive brunette, like so many of her kind, and Spike found the déjà vu unnerving. "Tell me these are not the places I will be expected to frequent as a human," he muttered.  
  
"I'm looking for Sarah Andrews?" Willow asked the salesgirl.  
  
"She's on break," the girl said. "I'll go get her."  
  
"What's going on?" Spike asked Willow.  
  
"Ssh, wait. You'll see," she hushed him, as the brunette returned with an apple-cheeked blonde, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail.  
  
"Do I know you?" the blonde asked.  
  
"Hi Sarah, I'm Willow Rosenberg. We spoke this morning?"  
  
The girl wiped her palms on her green apron and offered her hand to shake. "Sure, hi. How are you? That sounded like a terrible accident. Are you sure you're all right?"  
  
Willow patted the bandage on the side of her head gingerly. "My melon's a little bruised but I'm good. I can't thank you enough for meeting with us."  
  
The girl shrugged. "No problem. I should thank you for getting rid of this. It's freaking everybody at the hospital. And my mom, she doesn't want it, doesn't want anything that reminds her." The girl reached into her pocket and then stopped. "She's really dead now? Like you said? I mean, I won't get in trouble for this will I?"  
  
Willow took a step towards her. "Sarah, I would never involve you with anything related to this." She looked back at Spike. "Sarah's dad was Leah's doctor," she said quietly.  
  
In another life, Spike would have clarified the introduction with something like, 'right, the man with the size 8 shaped hole through his skull,' but Sarah's sad, tired eyes kept him in check.  
  
"Right. Sorry about your dad," he mumbled.  
  
"Yeah," she replied, her voice wavering. "Thanks. Listen, that's basically all there was. She had some clothes, a passport. I burned them." The bitter set to her mouth told them that rules about disposing of the belongings of dead former mental patients did not apply to her.  
  
"That's okay," Willow assured her. "We don't need anything else."  
  
"Here," the girl said, her tears beginning to flow. "Take it." She handed Willow a large stone medallion attached to an iron chain and then ran into the back of the store with her hand over her mouth. Willow's eyes followed the girl's sad retreat.  
  
"God, Spike. Her dad because of me; he's dead because of my spell. I'm responsible for...."  
  
"For saving the bloody world," Spike finished. "It doesn't even out, or make it right, not by a long shot. But it's all we've got."  
  
Willow looked at the amulet she held and placed it in his hands. "Look familiar?"  
  
Spike shook it in his palm. "A little too, actually. So this is what the lawyers wanted that slayer for, what Lady Headless was willing to lock her own sister up to protect?" He shook his head at the utter worthlessness of it. "Come on, now. You've got a flight to make."  
  
"Feel up for that coffee?" Willow asked faintly.  
  
"I've lost my taste for it," Spike muttered.  
  
The amulet heavy in his pocket, Spike escorted Willow to her gate in the airport. A name hung in the air between them, the elephant in the middle of the room – not that you could use a metaphor like that in front of Buffy or she'd think you were calling her fat.  
  
"I have to say something to her," Willow said before her final boarding call.  
  
"Say hello then. 'Specially to the little bit," Spike replied. "Greetings from L.A. I believe I've seen it on postcards. I'll send you one." He flashed a grin.  
  
She did something strange then, a quick action that made him confront his humanity more than cringing in daylight or wincing from the cigarette smoke that singed his lungs. Willow hugged him – tightly, briefly, intensely. She boarded the plane without looking back. As it should be, Spike thought as he left the terminal, blinking back into the sun. ***  
  
After the meeting, Gunn approached him first, pulling Spike out of his thoughts. Spike leaned over and knocked on his cast. "How's the leg?"  
  
Charles shrugged. "Bones knit, it's cool. Hey, listen, if Wes is feeling up to it we wondered, if uh, we could come over, see our favorite scientist. Tomorrow maybe?"  
  
Spike dragged his eyes over past Gunn's shoulder, catching the backward glance of Wesley from the door. "Yeah, she'd like that."  
  
Charles flashed him a grin. "Hey man, you're doing good for her. Like I told you: as long as she's not writing on the walls, she's solid." He hobbled out the door.  
  
"So the Anne Rice routine about dead blood's spot on after all," Spike said to the last individual in the room. "Who knew?"  
  
"We seem to learn something new every day," Angel sighed. "And always the hard way." He shook his head. "I should've smelled him on her, Spike. She must have been reeking of Wesley. If I had paid any kind of attention, I could've stopped that whole massacre. But Leah started talking about Lilah, about how long it had been since they'd seen each other, how Lilah died trying to save her life, by locking her away. I couldn't help feeling somehow responsible."  
  
"Nasty habit you have," Spike replied. "Nearly got you finished off."  
  
"Anyway. How's Fred?" Angel asked, his guilty expression unchanged.  
  
Spike pulled out cigarettes and lighter from his jacket pocket. "I want to say better. She's erasing, starting over. Like Charlie said. Can't be all bad." He lit up and waited for Angel's lecture on smoking inside the offices. Instead, he sat next to Spike on the couch.  
  
"What do you see happening?"  
  
Spike raised his eyebrows and considered the question. "Some days she talks about finishing her doctorate, some days she can't wait to get back here. Girl should have whatever she wants. Whatever she does, I won't stop her."  
  
Angel cleared his throat and rubbed his palms together nervously. "I meant you."  
  
Spike tapped an ash into the potted plant next to the sofa and tried to seem unmoved "You said you needed me, mate. Think I'd give up rubbing that nugget in your face every day? Besides, miles to go and all that." He pulled the amulet out of his pocket and laid it in Angel's palm. They glanced at each other briefly.  
  
Angel opened his mouth and shut it with a snap. He tightened his fist around the jewel and rose from the couch. Smiling faintly, he pulled the cigarette from between Spike's fingers and dropped it into the soil of the potted plant next to the window. "Tell her I'll be over to see her soon." Then he too left the room.  
  
Alone, Spike rested his elbows on his knees and studied his empty hands, a history in flesh: the blue veins snaking under the calloused skin, the faint pink burn scar on his right palm, the nicotine stain on his middle finger. Their capability for so much harm, so much hurt. So much life. Maybe there was something to being human after all.  
  
When he looked up, Eve stood framed in the doorway.  
  
"What do you want?" he asked.  
  
She smiled languidly. "You look so lonesome. When's your girl coming back?"  
  
"Never, if I have my say," he answered and stood up.  
  
Eve stepped inside the conference room and closed the door. "Well, that's the thing, hon. You don't have your say. The senior partners want her back here ASAP. There's a deal on the table."  
  
"Fine," he answered easily, crossing the room to face her. "She'll come back long enough to tell you and your deal to stuff it."  
  
Eve smiled again, the sort of smile that Fred's doctors gave her when she first came to, Spike thought.  
  
"Sorry, it doesn't work that way. See, if this were still Angel Investigations, your little honey could kill psychotic slayers until the cows came home with only her own moral dilemmas to sort out. Here, there's a balance to keep. The senior partners demand a deal, Spike. It's not my call."  
  
He felt an icy chill of foreboding stab his chest, the seriousness of it all underneath the play. "You got your deal, that sick slayer. That's yours, right? Take it."  
  
"Yeah, she was major disappointment. Thought you'd be a better influence on her, given your thing for slayers and nut jobs. Never would have put you with the scientist. Didn't think that brainy girls were your type."  
  
"Right. So we disrupted your plan," Spike started and Eve laughed with true amusement.  
  
"Spike. There is no plan. Actions and reactions, like your girl believes in, that's all we're about. None of you seems to get that. So get this: the best one of all of you is now a killer. Do you think for a minute that the senior partners are going to let her slip through their fingers? And bless her heart she's in love. She's proven too well that if anyone points the arrow at you, she'll fire again, and again, and again."  
  
"Shut up," he demanded, sick with remembering how Fred couldn't stop firing the gun. "What do you want?"  
  
"I think you know. I don't make the rules. But I am here to enforce them."  
  
Eve's steady glare confirmed his worst fears. He shook his head. "No. Not her. Not Winifred. There has to be another way."  
  
"Of course. We're lawyers. Deals are what we're all about."  
  
"Name it."  
  
"You," she told him. "You for her."  
  
He'd die for Fred, no question on the sacrifice there. But her sacrifice – it wasn't fair. "She can't know," Spike blurted.  
  
Eve smirked. "Sorry. Selective amnesia's got too many side effects. This is the way it has to be. She'll remember it all. You both will. You see, the senior partners want you down, but not out. You can pick up where you left off or you can drop out of the game altogether. Your call."  
  
Spike considered the offer, death or demon – some choice. He'd experienced most of the countless drawbacks to humanity in the past few weeks, his body still unaccustomed to living flesh, and he wouldn't miss the physical properties at any rate. He knew how to be a vampire, knew what that held for him. He could fight it, fight the urges that the body and mind rationalized were natural and necessary – or he could give in to them. He'd be giving in to death. If another battle came, he wouldn't survive as a human and neither would Fred. It was that simple. He craved the smallest scrap of chance to exist in a world with her in it – maybe even save her and let her live. But he couldn't make her live with this, live with his choices.  
  
He would not give Eve the satisfaction of hearing him ask for it. He swung his arm back, satisfied at seeing her cower, and stopped. He resisted the strong urge to strike her. "If you were a man, you'd be spitting up teeth," he snarled.  
  
She smiled in surprise. "You really have to see how it all ends, don't you? Even her end?"  
  
"Make the fucking deal."  
  
"Don't forget, there's still the Shanshu up for grabs for you and Angel to duke out, maybe even destroy each other to get. I want a ringside seat for that apocalypse."  
  
He turned away from her, trying to shut out her words. "Shanshu be damned. You leave her alone. Forever."  
  
"Forever's an awfully long time, but you'll figure that out," Eve paused and turned away at the glare he fixed her with. "Fine, yes, she's safe. You'll be around to see to that, won't you?" She walked towards the door.  
  
"And all of them," Spike called after her. "Put them all right. No more nightmares, no more symptoms of things better left unsaid. That's what's wrong with them, right? A mind sweep? That selective amnesia, as you called it?" He felt for perhaps the first time, the weight and meaning of his life, what it could buy. He grasped for one more deal, one more chance to bring Fred some comfort in her life. At the very least she'd suffer no more headaches.  
  
Eve spun around with her hand on her hip. "Damn, boy. How much do you think one gal's worth?"  
  
"She is worth it," he muttered, his hands clenching into fists. "You be the one to tell me she's not."  
  
"Done, but that's it," Eve conceded with an exasperated sigh. "In the meantime, you've got one more day in the land of the humans. Have fun."  
  
***  
  
Spike entered the apartment in time to hear Fred on the telephone, his heart sinking at the exchange he overheard. "And mom, he's wonderful. I can't wait until you meet him! OK, yes, he's here now! OK, bye!" She hung up and ran over to him, throwing her arms around his neck. He pulled her close. He'd miss her welcome home for him every day after work, a hero's welcome. One he didn't deserve.  
  
"They're dying to meet you! Mom says she's never heard me so happy. And she's right, you know," she added shyly, squeezing him again. "You're home so early, everything all right?"  
  
Spike swallowed past the lump in his throat and smiled bravely. "You've been after me to go to the pier with you for weeks. You up for it?"  
  
"Wait. Yes. Yes, I want to go," she decided, jumping with sudden delight. No evidence of the craziness in her eyes. She was getting better.  
  
He'd done the whole LA scene years ago; so long it felt like another person who'd lived that life. But he'd never seen this city through Fred's eyes, through the dazzling light of day. She experienced the Santa Monica pier with the same joy and enthusiasm she embraced everything in her life. Including him. He'd snuff out that joy, but only momentarily and certainly not by dying on her. She'd never know. He'd do it quickly and her cavalry would sweep in to pick up the pieces. Only a little broken, he thought. It seemed that everything he touched wound up that way.  
  
"We'd better go soon," Fred advised. "Somebody's getting a sunburn." She snubbed the pink tip of his nose playfully. They passed one of the many instant photo booths that lined the boardwalk. Suddenly inspired, Spike rifled through his pockets and pulled out several dollar bills. He pulled her towards it.  
  
"Come on in here, love."  
  
"Spike, no, I'm not that adventurous yet!" she giggled.  
  
"No, not that," he said gently. "I'd like a picture. Of us."  
  
She held back, watching him warily. "Spike, you think these are the tackiest! You hate them!"  
  
He bit his lip and tried to smile. "Not today. I don't hate anything today."  
  
Back at the apartment, he traced the cheap celluloid image of them smiling together. Seeing it on film almost made it real, what a damn fine couple they made. He'd allow himself one set. She could have the rest to keep. Or burn. He dropped the pictures on her nightstand and made quick work of his packing, readying himself for the scene to come. The fading of her bright smile when she saw his bag in hand nearly brought him to his knees.  
  
"What's going on?" she asked hesitantly.  
  
He mustered as much bravado as he could. "This can't work, pet. I'm not much on meeting the parents. Not my scene, I'm afraid. You seemed so keen on it; I thought it best to tell you now. Get out of this relatively unscathed."  
  
She stepped towards him and he backed towards the apartment's front door. He tried not to look at her face, still open, still trusting beneath her confusion and hurt. "Why are you saying this?" she asked. "I don't care if you meet my parents, Spike, you have to know I don't care about any of that." Her sweet faith in him, in the face of what he was about to do, brought the hot burn of acid to his tongue.  
  
"That's what you need though. Nice normal boy to bring home to your nice normal family. This is all a bit much for me, Fred. Nice and normal were never put with me in the same sentence. You're better now. Don't need me mollycoddling you," he continued matter-of-factly.  
  
He saw her cringe at him saying "Fred" instead of "Win," his name for her. "What are you talking about? You know I don't see us that way. Please don't leave me," she begged, tears lapping onto her pale cheeks. "Please."  
  
Spike turned towards the door and bit the inside of his lip until he tasted blood, trying to keep up the façade. "You saved me and I saved you. We're square, pet. We had us a bit of fun, you showed your boys that you're all grown up, and it's high time for the big bad to trot off into the sunset."  
  
She ran over to him and tried to pull the bag away. "Please don't go. Please stay with me."  
  
He pulled back, flinching at the way her small body jerked under his hand. "You've got no say in this! Let me go!"  
  
"I can't! "She began sobbing in earnest. "I love you."  
  
"Yeah, well, you'll get over it," he choked. "Like you did with Charlie- boy, like Wesley's doing with you. It all comes around and it all ends."  
  
She slumped against him, flooding him with her scent, sweet lavender soap mixed with the tang of her sweat. He struggled to recoil from her touch. "But you promised me," she whispered.  
  
He had, of course; that night in the hotel room. He drew a shaking breath and held her away from him. "Well, I'm a bad man. And that's what bad men do. We break promises and break hearts and break people. Consider yourself lucky, you've got friends to help you put yourself together again," he told her.  
  
She looked at him; full of wearied love for him, and his chest ached with the sight of her. He found her completely accepting of him, her loving eyes held no praise or blame, in a way that no person had ever seen him before.  
  
Then everything changed.  
  
Spike watched her mind click into a decision and her expression of love and compassion fled from her face, her eyes narrowing like steel traps. She strode over to the door and yanked it open with sudden strength of resolve.  
  
"Go then," she whispered bitterly, the tears drying on her face. "Go to your slayer or wherever else you're going. Get out."  
  
He had to turn his back on her to squeeze his eyes shut, his heart pounding relentlessly against his ribs. Of course, she'd think he'd go in that direction. Couldn't she see that he had no idea where to go? He tightened his hold around his bag and steadied his voice.  
  
"That's my girl. Go on and hate me. Though I'd hoped we could still be friends," he said with cold sarcasm.  
  
He could sense her drawing power from him, steeling herself from him, exactly as he'd hoped she'd do. She'd gotten all kinds of strength back – and he'd helped her do it. Still, he imagined himself screaming in protest, throwing himself at her feet and begging forgiveness, promising never to leave.  
  
"I feel nothing for you," she hissed in reply.  
  
"Even better," he retorted and walked out the door, keeping his eyes forward. She closed it on him without another word.  
  
He reached the end of the hallway when he realized that he still had her key in his pocket. "Nothing like ruining the perfect exit sequence," he muttered and slunk back to her flat. He knelt down and began to slip the key under the thin crevice beneath her door. He heard her hiccupping sobs and her desperate conversation with someone. She'd already started on the phone calls, he noted grimly. Win, he thought. I'm sorry, I'm so very sorry. He leaned his head against the door.  
  
"Yes, I did it exactly like you said," he heard her sniffle from inside. "Yes, I asked three times. He's, he's gone. Make him okay now. Please."  
  
Hearing these words, Spike stood up and flung the door open. "What the fuck did you do?" he demanded. The suddenness of his entrance caused Fred to jump backwards with a start and her cell phone fell to the tile of the hall floor with a clatter.  
  
"Spike!" she shrieked in surprise and her eyes widened. He saw the beginnings of a relieved smile play on her lips for a moment. She tried to catch her breath and pull her face together into a look of disapproval. "What, what do you want?"  
  
"What –did—you—do?" Spike repeated tightly. He grabbed her shoulders viciously in his shaking hands and pushed her against the wall with a flash of fresh power. It's happening, he thought, the change coming, the life slipping out of him like the air of a balloon. But he could not leave without knowing what she'd done, if her safety had been compromised.  
  
"Nothing. Never mind. You have to get out of here," she stammered. "I, I don't want you here. Get out," she added, but with none of the force she'd shown before. She quivered in his hands and every imaginable emotion for her possessed him: confusion, anger, hurt, fear, but most of all, love.  
  
"I'm not moving until you tell me who that was on the phone and what the hell is going on. Win," he took a breath and felt his lungs resist expanding with the air. "Please."  
  
"I know, there's not much time," she mumbled, her eyes fixed on the floor. "You have to get out of here before you change."  
  
Wildly, he dug his fingers into her arms and winced when her muscles bowed under the pressure. He loosened his grip and gave her a small shake. "How do you know about that?"  
  
All the resistance melted out of her. She looked up at him and he found her loving eyes holding him once again. "The senior partners made me a counter offer."  
  
His mouth dropped open in shock. "Fucking hell," he rasped, his hands releasing her and sliding down her arms. "Deliver me from lawyers."  
  
"They said I could try to make you stay. I got three chances," she explained softly. "But if I couldn't convince you, and if I let you go, you could stay human."  
  
Spike backed away from her, raking his shaking hands through his hair in disbelief. "Win. Love, why? Why, why did you do such a thing?"  
  
She shook her head back and forth firmly. "What you're giving up for me, Spike, being human, it's too much..."  
  
"I don't want to be human," he blurted. She stared at him in wonder and he racked his brain for a joke, for a snappy retort that would put them back to where they began. But he could only offer the truth.  
  
He stepped towards her. "Knowing I had a pulse for you – that's what made it worthwhile. Without you, what am I? Another sorry stupid man." He grazed his knuckles over her cheek, traced the delicate curve of her eyebrow, and cupped her jaw into his palm.  
  
"Then stay," she said one more time. Fred pressed her palms flat against his chest, glided them down across his stomach, and slid them up his back. Her thin fingers sank into the back of his scalp, tightened around his cropped hair, and drew him to her chest. He shuddered under her touch, moaned with the relief of it, and slipped his arms around her. He drank in her smell, her warmth. They sank to the floor together.  
  
"Win, you know I won't be human. Are you sure?" he asked.  
  
"I'm sure I love you. That's all right, isn't it?"  
  
He pressed his face into her chest, burying his sudden tears between her breasts and gave one last shaking sigh. "That'll do. That'll more than do. And love: no more deals, no more lawyers," he added weakly.  
  
"Deal. I mean, no," she agreed, squeezing him tight.  
  
"No matter what happens, Win, know that I love you, that I never meant to hurt you, that I'll stake myself before I do..." Her fingers fluttered over his cooling lips to silence him.  
  
"Shh. See," she whispered, stroking his hair gently, as the last traces of human life stole out of him. "Not so different, not so very different after all. Just a little colder. But I've got heat enough for both of us."  
  
Maybe this time, he thought, neither one of us will burn.  
  
The End.  
  
Note: the song Spike's thinking about is the Ramones "I wanna be sedated," which he sings to Buffy in Season 5 "Crush."  
  
This now ends "The Ghost and Ms. Burkle."  
  
All my thanks and love to Addie and Ronnie for both betaing and inspiring.  
  
Thanks to everyone for reading my first ever fanfiction! Stay tuned for the sequel, with more Spike and Fred plus the return of Buffy Summers! 


End file.
